The Rising Sun
by Odeveca
Summary: With the mind of a Volatene and the temper of a Martell, Gael Sand will make a name for himself in Westeros, for his bastard sisters and the promising discovery of a iridescent gold egg, he will fight for his father's revenge and his right to rule a free Dorne. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

****Summary:****

 **With the mind of a Volatene and the temper of a Martell,**

 **Gael will make a name for himself in Westeros,**

 **for his bastard sisters and the promising discovery of a iridescent gold egg,**

 **he will fight for his father's revenge and his right to rule a free Dorne.**

 _ **Author's Note: I own nothing. AU Universe. This will cover Pre-Robert's Rebellion and onward loosely following the books.** **I will begin in the year 279 AC, and the appearance of the dragon egg will begin in Chapter 10, so brace yourself for impact. ****I** **will switch the POV between my OC protagonist Gael Sand, and then with the Targaryen royal family in King's Landing. This was written purely for fun, but if some facts seem off, please tell me, don't belittle me, thank you, and enjoy!**_

 _ **THE RISING SUN**_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Gael**

* * *

The hot and heavy air clung to Gael's shoulders,

condensation of sweat dripping down his sunburnt back,

as the he attempted to thrust his whip at the sword wielding girl with pierced nipples and stretched ear holes the size of baby fists.

"Fuck you Hoga," she was fast, and a good two heads taller than him.

While for Gael, his bare chest and feet burnt red, made every well-spent thrust in enduring pain and still he was losing against her.

Struggling to keep up, he had to try, he had to in front of the shadowed audience, his whip coiled and slapped the heated air shimmering off the flagstone courtyard, and the salty seagull-crying breeze from the Orange Shore was their only reprieve from the almighty bright monster in the sky.

"What's wrong Widow's son," Hoga teased him, "can't fight today?"

Day in, Day out, she said the same. His untouchable dueler, _his_ slave girl, and yet she had _no problem_ with making her stabs,

she even enjoyed it, seeing him fall so low to her, and having no choice but to put up with his shortcomings.

Hoga made plenty of hits with her blunt broadsword, he had more purple than skin these days, "Gael come on! Are you afraid of losing to a girl? Again?"

Hoga's triumphant grin leaked into Gael's,

whose scarred lips grew upwards, his chin dripping sweat when he saw his first chance, "no."

Gael, the Boy Master, pulled his whip, this time it caught around Hoga's leg, and she fell backwards, hard on her skinny ass, "you stopped paying attention."

"Gael!"

He turned his lanky body at the call of his name, the hoarse voice commanded him from the place where the audience was watching, "come here, and stop that roughing around!"

"Why?" He wiped the sweat from his face, not in the mood to finish, not when he was just winning, "I need more practice."

"Do not question me boy," it came from the dark shade of the common room at the Merchant House of Volantis, a great oak table sat there, with chairs, and concealed guests too, and the whack of the walking stick against the smooth marble pillar meant he was frustrating her, "I have a man I want you to meet my son, come."

He did not have much of a choice, this was after-all her courtyard, her swords, her rules, "Fine I am coming, fuck-" he got a solid punch in the face for turning away, fell flat on his knees, and his palms rubbed hard against burning rock, tearing skin. It stung.

Hoga gloated, "Got you!"

Gael's hands bled against the sandy stone, pieces of rock got into the cuts, he could not get the pieces out, "Hoga! You bloody bitch-"

"Hah," the slave girl stuck his tongue at him as he rubbed at his swelling cheek, defeated by her once more, "I told you that I would win-"

"GAEL! Come here, right now," he was in trouble, the elderly crone had very little patience with him as it was, and out from the dark she hobbled, with company.

Gael picked himself up, wiping his bleeding knee, and walking over to the petite hunchback of familiar dark eyes, wisps of hoary white hair, and from her sweaty head glazed patches of pink patchy skin in the unrelenting sun, "what is it?"

The old woman's wrinkles stretched into a frown, disappointed with his attitude, "This man has come to visit us," she extended her saggy hand, the Widow's wrinkled skin reminded Gael of a dried up prune, definitely an uninviting view to the girls he usually watched, but still for the visitor's sake, she was his lovely grandmother, and the respectable pimp of the Merchant House.

"Yes, grandmother."

"Do you know this man," she asked of him, her cane tapping the floor, her silent communication only increased with the intensity of her flapping fan, her freckled arms jingled with twenty dragonbone bangles, "does he seem familiar to you? His face?"

This was more than a mere question, this was something he should know, a test.

Gael looked at the stranger, trying to remember him, but this man, lightly armored greaves, vambraces, spaulder, impressive steel codpiece, grinning snake-eyes, sharp nose, and thick black hair did not strike him as someone he would have forgotten.

Surely the emblazoned copper sun, could not be more, "he is a Westerosi," that as much was clear, "what is the big fucken deal?"

"Your grandson has a tongue on him," the man rubbed his impressive black moustache, Gael could only hope for the day he inherited his own, "something from you perhaps?"

"Never," the Widow spit the green phlegm she chewed on occasion, "you little fool, this is a Prince of Dorne," his grandmother smacked him with her fan, "show him your respect."

"Yes, grandmother."

"He is a cute one," the Prince threw himself on the cushions, and so did they, trying to sit lower than he, "did you raise a parrot or a boy?"

That earned him a few laughs from the _actual_ Widow's Sons that guarded his grandmother, and Gael hid his distaste poorly, not really caring about his manners, and more of how Volantis men should be wanting his respect, and not the other way around.

Gael was of the Old Blood. A little Lord in his own right from his grandfather's blood on his mother's side. Volantis was different from Westeros, if you had the Old Blood you were untouchable. But that did not mean that you were loved. Even the Old Blood loved to hate their true rulers, Triachs, three rulers abode in the magicked two hundred foot Black Wall, prideful, oppressive, and untouchable, that was the Volantenes' way, a quiet fury, he asked, "does a Prince have a name?"

"My name is Prince Oberyn Martell," the man's widow peak scrunched up as his thin eyebrows rose, "and you," his accent was very strong, he did not hide it, "are you the Gael I been hearing about," they shook hands, his larger hand refuse to let him go, "you know how to use that whip?"

Grandmother found it funny, "He knew his way around a whip since he was four," her old hands kindly rubbed Gael's dark haired-head, and Oberyn looked impressed, and he would soon learn she was never finished in praising him, the centerpiece of their families power, "he has big shoulders to fill. His grandfather was the great Triarch Vogarro, and his mother, my daughter, runs the House of the Tiger in his stead."

This was surprising news to the Westerosi, he released Gael, whom rubbed his numb hand, "I thought Malaquo Maegyr ruled the Tiger?"

The widow of the waterfront shrugged, "it is the same thing, here, come, come Prince Oberyn Martell, you must be starving, eat, eat," she pushed the man towards cold soup that appeared like purple honey in Norvosi silver bowls, swirling in it was sweet beats, next was a golden gemmed goblet of sweet red wine to wash it down, and a sweet tight pussy named Elena for later.

"I will enjoy these gifts," Prince Oberyn shoved his tongue into the girl's mouth, she moaned with him, and Gael coughed loudly while covering the growing bulge in his pants. This embarrassing new development had been happening all the time now.

Hoga laughed her horse laugh, obviously catching on to his horny state, but thankfully his grandmother did not, "delicious," said the Westerosi Prince eyes roaming over the offered refreshments, his mood lustful, and his dark eyes hooded, "do you know who I am girl?"

Elena spoke demurely, "No my Prince."

"I am from Dorne, across the Narrow Sea, you should come to visit me, bring your friends," he asked as Elena, a fifteen year old perfumed paramour bouncing on his knee, a babe in every sense, because even Gael had yet to have her, passable virgins were rarely sacrificed, and he knew that with the gleam in both women's eyes, his grandmother was up to something.

His grandmother's men were shifting in their sweat, Elena's eyes were alight with fascination, and the fact that his mother had not come to fetch him, Gael knew this visitor was here for something dangerous or expensive, such was the way of foreigners in Volantis.

When Prince Oberyn had his fill, he spoke his needs, "I wish to see your daughter."

"You know I cannot let you do that," his grandmother stroked the hand of her very own sex slave, thick blonde hair hung around his well cut cheeks, and a black tear in the corner of the manslave's eye made it known that he was not here of his own free will, "she rarely leaves the Black Wall these days."

Oberyn stroked the hair of his own borrowed pet, "She will not like that she missed me-"

"True, but what Vogarra doesn't know will not kill her," his grandmother placed her hand over the male pleasure slave's taut arms, appraising the sinew and skin, she never looked so old, "she is spoiled as my only child. Marriage only spoils her more. Your visit will do nothing good for her."

Oberyn brought the wine to his lips, sipping, mulling that news, "I don't have to meet her, I only wish to meet someone within the Black Walls, is there no one that can get me in, just for a bit?"

Grandmother pursed her lips, just a bit, would be hard enough, "I wish I could help you," she did not relent, Gael could see that the conversation was going nowhere, his grandmother rarely gave in.

"You're not really helping me," the Prince disagreed.

She knew it too, used it to her advantage, "You must understand Oberyn. This is not Westeros, freed slaves don't live in the Black Walls, among the nobility, it simply is not done," if you looked closely you would see the Widow's own battle scars, deep cuts to rid slave tattoos, "you've seen it, there are Valyrians with pussies whiter than my daughters, no impossible, I can't ruin my family's reputation on a whim," she would for a great sum if the Prince was smart enough, he smartly tried doing so, "no, it's not the money. No amount of honors can make your blood valuable. You are born free, or born a slave, so it is Prince Oberyn. So even if I wanted to, they would never allow me back in."

Gael tore off a piece of bread, the answer came to him as he chewed, his eyes meeting the matriarch of his family, "can I bring him in grandmother?"

"You could do that boy?"

Gael frowned, not liking the interruption, "I am not a boy," Hoga laughed through her hands, she knew it would tip him over the edge, "shutup Hoga, or I will leave you here when I go back home."

The Prince seemed surprised, Gael was a little proud of that, perhaps he did have more power than he thought, Oberyn lifted the overflowing goblet to him, he spilled some on the Qohor imported table of white oak, careless, "of course you could, you live in the city do you not? With your mother?"

"Yes, I am the Old Blood," Gael watched the way the man destroyed his grandmother's table, stains would remain once he left, but that did not bother him as much as he first thought, "I do live there."

"Perfect," the Prince's moustache danced on his smile, infectious, "fetch your beast, we should get going-" he drank the rest of the wine, taking the rest to go with them, and leaving Elena frowning in losing a possible patron, "sorry lovely, the gods be good, and we will meet again," he gave her a long kiss, moaning, "or I will have to kidnap you to keep all for myself."

The paramour Elena giggled as she was kissed goodbye, the Widow did not like that, her mouth in an ugly twist, and Gael felt his stomach rumble with anxiety.

"Coming Gael?"

What could Gael say, he did not stray away from the Prince's face, and made quick work to finish his whole wine as he left too, "Coming my Prince."

Gael did not get far.

She would never let him leave so easily, "Now just wait a moment, you are not leaving!"

Not this again, he tried to ignore her. Grandmother was still playing her game, she had not dismissed him, and so he was not surprised when a hoarse shriek flew from her lips, she stood to her impressive five foot height, "You can't go, I forbid it-"

Gael could ignore her no longer, "We aren't doing anything wrong grandmother," that much was true, despite the excitement teeming in Gael's veins at escorting a royal through Volantis, bringing the West into the Valyrian fortress would ruffle feathers, and that was not something he wanted to miss, "I want to show him our great city, take him to mother-"

"NO!"

Grandmother scratched her pleasure slave's beautiful golden skin, he yelped holding his face, and was dismissed, the excitement turned stale, an uneasy silence following in the common room that had not been there before, "No Gael you are staying here! Prince Oberyn, the boy does not know what he speaks of, he dishonors us all-"

She was being ridiculous again, _senile female_ , Gael sighed, "Now grandmother, stop fussing," the little Tiger did not see the problem, "I live in the Black Walls, I can take my Prince, my guest, it's my right," it could be that simple, he had the higher status than anyone in this courtyard, "I can take you in. I need only get my things," he kissed his grandmother's frowning lips, "I will return," he promised her, hoping she would not stay upset.

"Do not worry about her. Come my Prince, I will take you," Gael promised, they left the moss covered courtyard, Hoga hot on his heels, because she was just as excited to lead the foreigner, this would be far more fun than staying in the old and debauched Merchant House, and under the thumb of his grumpy grandmother, "come on Hoga, get Vox."

Hoga bowed for the command, "Yes, Master."

His dark skinned slave-girl ran through the bustle of busy street, across the way her back glistened with sweat, and it disappeared into the shade of his grandmother's stables to get their ride.

"Well that is something I never missed," Gael felt the Prince lean over him, his height was domineering, and the Westerosi coughed when the dust bowl hit them in the face.

Gael knew when to keep his mouth shut from the dust bowls, "Oh yes, the heat, it gets to us too, in the summer you could cook an egg on the street, my friend Malarro said he could cook it if I shaved my-"

The Prince interrupted, "I meant the slavery."

"What?"

The Prince was staring at Gael curiously, with something he had not seen there before, because the foreigner had not been able to look away from the putrid sweat of unwashed bodies, large hungry eyes, skeleton frames, tattered rags, and the boy could, he forgot to look, "you do not approve of our slaves? Have you seen better?"

"No, it's not like that at all."

"I can speak to their Masters if you find them comely?"

"No, what about your slave," Hoga's frizzy head, white-robbed frame, and smooth ebony skin was a stark difference among the many others like her, unbathed and whipped daily, "why should she call you her Master? She is your age, maybe older?"

The eleven-year old Gael found it silly, "Age does not dictate, if I am her Master or not."

"Quite the contrary," he leaned back against the wall, rubbing on his moustache, "age can mean a great deal, you should have respect for your elders. You could lose out on a great lesson they could teach you," the Prince slapped his lips together, pleased with himself, "something my father once told me."

Gael grumbled, biting back, "If I did then you would be stuck with my grandmother, and would never get what you wanted in the Black Walls."

"Hah, smart boy, your more than a parrot, heh," the Prince said as the great shadow came over them, led by Hoga's in chains, silencing, stinking, massive belly, more massive cracking joints of bulbous legs, and a grand trumpet as the beast recognized her Master's son.

The Prince was humbled by the sight, "you are far too young to be a Master Gael, well the Master of anything at all."

Gael's smile vanished, "let me show you," he took his whip out, the weight felt right in his hands, and he only had to lift it over his head, shouting commands at the great shadow, "Mazigon! Keligon! Keligon," and the elephant went to its haunches quicker than he had expected. It's large meaty head bent in submission, ears flapping at the dust and flies, and its large dark eyes Gael no longer payed attention to closed shut.

"There, you see? Even this beast knows I am its Master," the Boy Master was thrilled at his show of power, "that is the way boys are raised here, to be their own masters," Gael said climbing to his palanquin, "what do you say to that my Prince?"

The Westerosi had his arms around his chest, staring off into the bustle of slave ripe street, and even a Boy Master could tell, he was not impressed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: King's Landing  
**

* * *

 _The Three Eyed Crow looked away from the life of Gael Sand,_

 _and instead to the where his fate was being made, his prophecy born._

 _Turning his third eye to the Westerosi players that had never heard the name,_

 _not yet anyways..._

 _._

 _._

 _._

In King Aerys II court, under a knife's width protection of the white caped Kingsguard, and an even closer inspection by the King of Westeros, the royal Targaryen couple were presented with the woods witch and her mud spattered entourage from the sacred Isle of Faces.

Aerys could care less.

Red eyes, hairy midget, overwhelming smell of moldy carpet, it was her alright, the ghost of High Heart, "There was once a dragon, a lion, and then in came a _grumpkin_ ," Aerys joked, "tell me Tywin," he asked his great Hand Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, his equal in their pursuit of ruthless power, with a sneer that he reserved for something delightfully foul, "What does the old goat want with me now?"

The witch heard his callous taunts, the whole court had, "Good to see you too King Aerys," she addressed him, her gnarled black cane _clacked_ against the painted stone floor, echoing down the throne room, the walls decorated with the Targaryen dragon skulls, "to be welcomed back."

"I give you no welcome," King Aerys made it clear.

"Oh, I had no idea, well look who is still here," she faked ignorance, beside the Iron Throne, the impressive dragon skull of Balerion and his massive toothed grin greeted the witch, she smiled back, "the Great Hall still looks the same, even if it feels different, has new faces," the bald and portly Varys the Spider inclined his head, the youthful golden-haired Tywin Lannister looked up from his work, she was not finished, "but everyone is still playing the same game," she said, becoming the sole entertainment for the drunk and partying spectators, "lying till your tongues fall off."

"That is what Illyn Payne is for," the King cackled, "isn't that right executioner?"

His mute royal executioner bowed his gaunt head, but just for a moment, returning to his sullen guard.

"What a good pet you have made for yourself," she told the mute, her yellowed grey hair trailed behind her like a hairy robe and the tips were caked in a deep brown to the very end black tips, she looked back to King Aerys, " _And you?_ Well you have changed much from the young Prince you once were."

Aerys' long crusted nails tapped against his uncomfortable throne, troubled, "Who's fault is that," his intense glare of bright violet seemed brighter, crazed in his un-groomed face, and they zeroed in on the ghost of the High Heart, at her damn smile, proud little thing, it did not amuse him, "well you can't get all the credit," he peeked to his left, "I am surrounded by failures."

His ever mindful sister-wife, Rhaella smartly bowed her silver-white head, avoiding his accusations, crumbling into her skinny self, _good_ , "though, you haven't changed much," he laughed to himself, confessing, "I thought you would be dead by now."

To Aerys' right the Lannister Lion added, mindful of his tone, "The King means that we have not seen you in a great while, and you were not called for, and that is a crime punishable with imprisonment for a fortnight."

The court whispered the Rains of Castamere, they feared his Lion, Aerys liked it that way, allowed Tywin to continue on, "nevertheless," Tywin wagered, watching the faces of woodswitch, the Septa, and the unnamed Hedge Knight looming behind them, "it is clear that you did not know what your actions would be considered as such," his oldest friend had little grace with mercy, licking his finger proudly and turning the page in a tome he was writing in, reviewing the Master of Coin's work again it would seem, "and you will have to wait your turn-"

The woodswitch was not going to, "Oh I know what our King means, I am sorry to disappoint," the three foot woman tugged on her hair. Fleas scattered around her, people had to stamp their feet, bloody little splats, and hushed disgust followed her just the way it had the last time she had been in court, "but this is far too important to wait."

It was no surprise to Aerys, that rising acid from the _Dragon's_ stomach pooled in his mouth, burning his chest, he rubbed, "You are a stubborn little woman, that will never change," when he had been a Prince he had once envisioned that this is what the children of the forest would have resembled, midget heathens, he humored her, "go on heathen, speak, tell me of your Old Gods, what are they whispering in your ear now? Will there be roses, wolves, or lions at my throat come next winter," Tywin shifted in his seat, so did a great many, "will there be a knife at the end of the day, or will my wife ever do her duty?"

"None, my King, _gods be good_ ," the woodswitch dared, her cracked yellow teeth were still protruding, and it bothered him even more now, "I bring words to your court, and my friends bring gifts for the wedding of the Prince and Princess to be, simple things, mere trinkets but all meant well," she regarded her companions, they were wise enough to show some courtesy to a Dragon King, a muddy Septa and some Hedge Knight bowed to a displeased Aerys, presenting a bundle of silk, aromatic spices, and _fruit produce?_ _Seven Above_ , was Aerys disappointed.

Someone spoke for him, "we thank you," Elia and Rhaegar bowed their heads from their seats in the crowd, ignorant of the goat's malicious intentions.

Aerys narrowed his eyes at the Princess of Dorne, she had spoken out of turn, _Dornish donkey_ , she still continued in her sweet charade,"we are thankful for your visit to our court, and we hope the way was safe," pitiful words for a Targaryen bride to be, "and any words you have for us, my betrothed would be most happy to receive."

Crown Prince Rhaegar did not correct her, and Aerys was reminded how spineless his heir was.

It would seem his wimpy books had been exchanged for dull blades. He was no dragon. A dragon did not let a woman speak for him, he was soft, he was a waste of good Targaryen stock, the _Gods_ and had cursed them all for solely putting the future of their dynasty on his shoulders.

Aerys bit his furious tongue, peeking to his right, he muttered, "Tywin, what are you thinking?"

The Lion was thinking too loudly,

no doubt agreeing with the incessant buzzing in Aerys mind, "She receives them without understanding the whole situation, she must learn her place my King, remind her," Tywin muttered under his breath, and that made Aerys' palm clutched the Iron Throne tighter, the Lion knew it too, his father's crown was slipping, blood trickled between his pale fingers, and a scab would no doubt form again.

"I will tell you all I know," said the woodswitch ominously, getting what she wanted, "I have traveled a great distance to come today and reveal your future to be my Princess under the Sun."

That was not something Aerys could allow, he lost composure, shouting, "No, no prophecy, you hell's creature! You will not do it again," his face drained pale, "I will cut you where you stand, tear that tongue from your mouth, throw it in the flames for a prophecy of my own-"

"My King, please," Queen Rhaella leaned forward in her seat, her gown of luster raven feathered black and rich crimson tightened around her neck, "There be no words spoken here, if you do not wish them," the Targaryen Queen carefully cut off Aerys, nervous to soothe, whispering, "she will say nothing brother, let me set her right."

Aerys watched his sister take a stand, Rhaella dipping her head in a courtly gesture, and for once not blending into the shadows, "she is our guest after-all. We have not lost our courtesies."

She reminded the troubled court, and her husband whom wondered what the hell she was trying to do, "our King, my gracious brother, is a good one to allow such disobedience," an appraising Tywin watched too as the Queen pacified her brother once again before he destroyed all his maintained peace, she addressed the midget, "woodswitch, you have the gift of sight, but that does not give you the right to say it."

Aerys could still see hardness in those red grapes she called eyes, the grumpkin was still insubordinate, "my right," she rapped her cane upon the tile, "It's my duty to the Realm."

Aerys looks ready to burn her there and then, "Your duty?"

The Queen was the one to answer, "you have no duty to House Targaryen," her skeleton frame woman looked ready to fall down the many steps to the Iron Throne, but she remained upright, a vision of what she could be, "as King and Queen of Westeros, we both know our duty to the Realm, we have lived it, and let us not forget," she slowed her words, "this is not the first time you came to this court with a prophecy. If you crave the attention, what does that say of your reliability?"

Whispers spread like an infection.

Many of the court remembered the last time a prophecy was told by this woodswitch, and how that had ruined any of Queen Rhaella's happiness, and in turn her brother the King, "if this is of the Prince that is Promised, then you gave your prophecy long ago, I am sure you would not want to give another? Unless that prophecy was amiss," the court began to roar with protests, and Rhaella hoped her brother understood how much she too had grown to hate the old goat, "your prophecies herald a destruction that is only in your mind."

The buzzing was driving him mad, "Enough," Aerys shouted at a flinching Rhaella, but it was meant for overwhelming swell of voices, those that whispered the mummer's song, "sit woman, and silence, I will not have anymore on the witch," Aerys waved his hand, glad for once that he was a King and his word decree, his sister sat back down, and the whispers trickled to a stop, "begone before I change my mind."

That did not go over the Prince of Dragonstone, Rhaegar stood from his seat, people broke mid-sentence to listen, "We should let her speak father, give her the chance," his son took his sire's side at the foot of the Iron Throne, "perhaps her words could be of some use."

The court was drawn to him, just as they had been to King Aegon the Unlikely, his always loved grandfather, and Aerys eyed his bewitching son as if would rise up the steps, name him unfit to rule, and tear his legacy asunder.

To Rhaella, she was far more worried with the seriousness in Rhaegar's voice, attentive, deliberately giving the floor to the wood's witch and her tragic fortunes, and not as horrified as his parents had taught him to be, "my son," she called him to her side, her silver Prince bent his head, while she began scolding, " _Oh Rhaegar_ , her last prophecy forced your grandfather's hand," her grave tone meant more now, how unbearable a loveless marriage could be, "yes it gave us you, but you should be frightened my son, she should not be allowed to spread more grief."

Aerys smashed his fist against his throne, always expecting the worse, "What are you whispering over there? Tell me what she said Rhaegar."

Instead of stopping the wood's witch continued on, "The prophecy, yes, it came upon me a morning, where I looked out into the mists of the lake,

 _Into the rays of the sun,_

 _And I saw a great light, greater than the world has ever seen,_

 _It will blow to the wind everything we know-"_

Rhaella all but yelled in fear, but it was Rhaegar that saved his traumatized mother further disapproving glares from their King, "the gifts! Fruit, jewels, silk, what gifts have you brought? Would you not show my mother what you brought," the court's attention was stolen for a moment, misdirected, the volley of politics at its greatest, "they look quite interesting," the Crown Prince walked up the the Hedge Knights' gifts, rubbing his silver stubble chin, and picking something up, "myrish silk, Elia, this would look lovely on you?"

Elia came forward at his insistence, and the woods witch's guests bowed humbly, "Yes, your Graces, Come inspect my fruit, silks, all gifts to the noblest of all Houses," was the Hedge Knights' late reply, upon closer inspection he not staring at the Prince, nor Dornish Princess, but the Dragon Queen herself, as if she was not a crumbling broodmare, but something like the Maiden reborn again. That was not at all safe for anyone.

Meanwhile, King Aerys narrowed his eyes at the eagerness of this the Hedge Knight's eyes to touch on his bashful wife, and his son's cunning, thankfully all was distracted, and Rhaegar sunk back into the crowd with the woodswitch, they were left to speak their dangerous words.

Queen Rhaella was still reeling.

It was bad enough that prophecies were allowed to enter their court, and now a man was eyeing her covered bountiful breasts instead of her eyes, in front of her gossip hungry court, but worse Aerys, "Please your Grace, with your beautiful eyes inspect my fruit and see that my words are true."

Rhaella's full indigo eyes widened in recognition, "Oh I shouldn't."

"Why ever not sister," Aerys moved over on his uncomfortable throne, to get a better look at the Hedge Knight and his looks at an uncomfortable Rhaella, "it never stopped you before?"

The Knight briefly touched his broadsword.

Her husband's handsome features cemented in a frightening glare, no one was allowed into the Great Hall with weapons, and Rhaella is surprised he was allowed in the first place. The Queen knew her brother was never pleased with others touching what was his, and keeping up his calm facade was growing harder and harder with each passing day.

Rhaella's eyes met the armed Knight, and they did not leave him.

The Hedge Knight was none other than Bonifer Hasty, a knight from the Stormlands, hidden in green and brown leather instead of his blazon of a white bend cotised on purple, a full head of grey hair instead of the soft brown, wrinkles around his mouth and forehead, but it was him all the same. His kind blue eyes still the same, their moments of infatuation refusing to die.

 _Seven hells he will be killed,_ Rhaella knows her husband's mind, he would burn that smirk off any man that dare lay a hand on his Queen. Aerys was a jealous man, and that frightened Rhaella in more ways than she could count, especially since he had not yet noticed this man… _had once been her first love_.

The subordinate Queen met her husband's harsh gaze, "I am fine here."

"You may go because I will it," he told her, "it's all your good for, doing your duty," Aerys laughed his cruel laugh, "go on, I trust in you dear sister," he teased her, and Rhaella's stomach plummeted.

Rhaegar was careful not to look his mother's way, still conversing over the prophecy of the woodswitch.

the last time he intervened on her behalf, he was sentenced to Dragonstone for months on end, and no letters were ever allowed during those periods.

"Thank you brother," she forced out, and after her husband's permission she began to inspect the bushel of fruit, her timid gaze were delightfully ravenous over the smelly fruit, all an act, "beautiful, this must be it, my new favorite fruit," she muttered hating it before she even saw it, she asked of the Septa, openly ignoring Bonifer, "please tell us more, are these from Essos? A rarity no doubt?"

The very familiar Septa picked up one of the fruit, opening it, it glowed from within, this did not come from Westeros, or if it had Rhaella had never heard mention.

"Yes, your Grace, delivered from the shores of Asshai, our good Knight," she mentioned Bonifer Hasty, "has been traveling Essos for nine years to bring these splendors back to court, these Halls have changed much since the time we had last been here," the holy woman's silver eyes and brown eyebrows rose, looking at the tall arches above them, fading paintings of dragons, and new spikes of metal pointing down now, "You had been just a girl then, but I remember you were always with your father, and your grandfather, King Egg had always been kind to me."

"You were more than a girl," whispered Bonifer so only they could hear.

There was too much pain for her to notice him now, "My grandfather never lacked for friends," Queen Rhaella declared loudly, trying to put a name to the Septa's face, coming up short with the wrinkles, grey hair, melancholy look, "the parties would last till the dawn and the drinks were always full. It was easy to forget your worries then," some type of memory must have crossed both of their minds because they shared a quick smile with one another, "how silly of me, I was but a silly girl then, more the fantasy of a maiden," she whispered to the Septa.

"You deserve all the happiness in the world your Grace," Bonifer dared a little louder, breaking through Rhaella's walls, she had to look at him now.

The Septa gave Rhaella and Bonifer a grim smile as they stared at one another, he told her, "we are only here to serve your Grace, the blood of the Dragonlords, and whatever you ask of us we will give it."

Rhaella's Knight's words entranced the entire court as they watched their female royal smiling and exuding a joyous wonder for everyone's viewing pleasure, "I wish I remembered you both, we could share more stories."

The spell was broken when the King commanded her, "Rhaella, return to your seat this instant," she was surprised he had allowed to leave in the first place, and with a smile she gave herself, she did as she was told, because at least the prophecy was prevented, and she had the chance to relive some good moments in her life.

Aerys was not blind to it, he whispered while picking at a scab, "I will deal with you later sister." She dreaded what that meant.

"As for you," the Targaryen King turned his head to the woodswitch, "I will hear no more prophecies from you," he gripped the Iron Throne, cutting himself deeper, dark blood dribbled down the fanged throne, "and if you ever come to my court without a decree, then I will have your head on a spike, and your little body can go to the crows."

"Come now High Heart, let us leave," the Septa led the way out, her muddy feet leaving a path to the only doors of escape, "Come on, we should be leaving."

The woods witch was not going anywhere, Aerys could not believe her will or the words that left her infectious mouth,

" _Two. Ten. A Third. From the earth a golden crown will emerge,_

 _Seven vipers will bite the lion's paw,_

 _And the dragon will have three heads,_

 _When dark cold things come, asleep no more,_

 _They will come for us in the Long Night, and all the nights to come."_

King Aerys rose, demanding his Kingsgaurd, "Someone get her to shut up!"

The Hand intervened, "Order of the king, you idiots, you should have done it ages ago," Tywin shut his book closed, retreating from his imposed reluctance to interfere, "bind her and take her to the black cells."

" _Yes,_

 _And their dead hands will stretch to farthest reaches,_

 _Making days night, deserts seas, and bodies freeze before they die,_

 _All will be terrible!"_

As the Kingsgaurd tried to get her, the bodies of the court ran wild, mad dashes of excitement, and as the white caped guards came close, the Hedge Knight had a broadsword too, and he was willing to use it, lasting for a bit against the White Bull.

When he was cut down, he bellowed from his bloody lips, "down with the Mad King!"

Queen Rhaella screamed as if she was being killed herself, falling to her knees, "No!"

Tywin cursed _seven hells_ , and that was like wildfire under the Dragon King's ass, Aerys spit venom as his men fought the dispersing bodies of the court before the Iron Throne, demanding swift action, "get them all, kill them, burn them, burn them all! Get her, get her!"

All during the fray, the woods witch continued,

" _and the Widow's son will rise to the heavens,_

 _until he too becomes the sun,_

 _and from it will crack a thousand fiery arrows pointed,"_

As they reached her, she pointed her condemning finger at the furious face of King Aerys, " _at the enemy_."

.

.

.

 _The Woods Witch's accusing finger changed to where the Three Eyed Crow stood, "the true enemy."  
_

 _That startled him beside the Throne, where he had been whispering reassurances on Aerys' deaf ears, and it seemed as if she... as if she could see actually see him? See could see him trying to change a tragedy that he had no power to change._

 _The Three Eyed Crow understood he was just a bystander to their insignificant lives, and still her recognition startled him._

 _"The enemy," she repeated, and still managed to point to where he stood invisible._

 _The unfeeling watcher, the Last Greenseer in turn, stared at the captured Woods Witch, taken by mortal Guards, carefully following her, because the prophecy compelled him to do so,_

 _and while he went into those familiar dark cells below,_

 _he deliberated what her prophetic words meant for them all._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Volantis**

* * *

"Volantis is the first daughter," Hoga said in a clearer and louder voice than High Priest Benerro had at Mass in the Temple of Light, "the greatest of all the Free Cities, and by far the oldest-"

The foreigner thought differently of his city, "More like the fat whore," the Prince leaned over in his seat to look below, to those that walked the dung streets, and their sun-burnt skin was an eyesore among the pale nobles that dwelt in the shade of palanquin drawn elephants, "she gets fatter every year."

Gael butted in, "A fat whore? Surely you jest."

"No, I do not," Prince Oberyn huffed as if he was a freed Braavosi insulting the nobles, and still he was drawn by the elephants captured from Sothorys, as all noble men were, "as I told my brother, the Volantene apple has rolled a distance from the Valyrian tree."

Gael could not see it, "Slavery was the foundation in Old Valyria, you must know both cities grew from the back of slaves, of conquest, of great ingenuity-"

The Prince fanned himself of the flies and heat, "Yes, but you still can't get rid of the smell," he nodded his head to the powerful presence that surrounded him, Gael had unfortunately gotten used to it, "the stench is stronger than any greatness your nobles preach, hence, Volantis the fat whore."

How rude, "I would never call her that," Gael sniffed, trying to distract himself with the beasts' great leathered trunks trumpeting, their massive feet branding the ground in circular print, and all the while other Masters sat rocking on the hump that held them high. The Volantene bent their heads in salutation when they met their shaded eyes.

The Prince noticed this, "Can you not agree with me? Look at her, swollen with her slave children, look at her," the Prince chewed on his lips, shaking his head while motherless children were bartered for the man with the highest amount of 'honors', "I don't get why Essos still accepts slavery."

"We have already been over this my Prince."

"Yes, but it is still important to me," the Prince bristled like the feathers of a male peacock after the female.

Gael leaned back in his seat, the wind had found his sweaty back, and he took a deep breath, remembering his courtesies, "Of course, you're right. My apologies."  
"Have I already changed your mind?"

If only, "Quite the contrary my Prince, slavery is a very important to us," Gael's mother always said so during great cyvasse competitions, or when they sat in her room, reading fables of Old Valyria, "Slavery is a safe business to invest in, you can never go wrong with slaves-"

After watching a man be branded with hot pincers, Oberyn laughed, cruel and loud, "Selling freedom and livelihood should not be a business, that is exactly what is the problem with you Volatene, you think lives are yours to barter as you please, you destroy lives, destroy families, a whole history lost," Gael lost all his debating thoughts, the Prince looked serious, this topic truly upset him, "that is nothing to boast about."

"Yes," Gael heard himself agree, there was something curious of the way this man's distaste felt more right than the swelling pride of the privilege that Volantis preached since he was at the tit.

"You truly believe that my Prince?"

The Westerosi Prince said so, "What else is there to believe, but for all men to own their lives, that is something everyone should have, even slaves," the Westerosi Prince was refreshing, like a cool pail of water rushing down one's back. Gael had never experienced anything like it.

He tried to change the subject, "Volantis has its pleasurable sights, it's more than a hellhole for slaves," Gael felt the need to defend her, she was after all the greatest Free City Essos had to offer, "have you heard of the history of Sar Nell, it was burned by dragonfire, and Volon Therys," Gael had remembered going there the past week, "half-destroyed by water magic, can you believe it? This is where wars were fought and won, great men, great heros, dragons roamed the far skies-"

"I wouldn't be surprised if cowardly men made up those tales," the elephant seemed to shiver at Oberyn's words and they felt the palanquin shake with it, "so they themselves could be taller."

Gael had never thought of it like that, "Cyvasse then," it was his people's favorite game, "you must like that at least?"

"It takes far too long," the Prince thought aloud, "my concentration can only last so long."

"Of course," Gael could not win with this man.

They rode his mother's elephant, Vox the Fatass, as she rightly named, her rump and legs far bigger and fatter than many of the great elephants.

Hoga was on the head, her usual place, yanking the beast's leathery ear with her clipped rod, Oberyn and himself were in the shade of the palanquin upon the beast's' spine, overlooking the two carriage wide street of merchant shops, weekly milked in silk, spice, and chained slaves fresh off the port.

"Look here my Prince," Hoga spoke above the thousand haggling conversations, "this is the east bank, behind us is the Orange Shore," it was orange, shimmering clear white waters, the sun seemed to bleed life into the sea as the light died in the sky, that is why it was called the orange shore, "we were in Fishmonger's Square, the Merchant's House is my master's grandmother's house, she is a fine lady."

"Very fine, maybe in her youth," the Prince poured himself more wine from the golden flagon, "I mean I can't even see why anyone would have fucked her-" he belched loudly, amusing Hoga.

"Careful that is my grandmother," Gael was surprised at this Prince's lack of geniality, who had raised this beast of a man?

"Oh I know grandma's boy."

An equally indecent Hoga laughed along, "True. Long ago, she was beautiful, and a whore to a Triarch, until she pleased him enough to be freed. I will be freed one day too, you will see my Prince, I will suck every cock, cut into any man, so that I too may gain my free-"

There she went again, "Hoga! What did I say-"

"Yes, Master," she pointed to their next destination, quick to distract, "we will cross the Rhoyne on the Long Bridge, people come all the way from Qohor to see the black stone," they saw the stoned gargoyles of manticores, dragons, and various beasts Gael had already memorized, and so he would rather stare at the man with raven locks, he seemed so familiar.

Maybe his grandmother had been hinting something, "Have we met before my Prince?"

"I would say not," he replied, even if his Westerosi accent was not so bad, it was still not as rhythmic as the High Valyrian his family spoke, "I would remember my beloved Vogarra's son-"

 _Beloved?_

Vogarra's son doubted it, "I don't remember you," Gael rubbed the the tough hide of Vox, canker sores from his mother's whip, and still the elephant trudged along, dung tattooed slaves following close behind to clean the elephant droppings before the flies swarmed, "Westerosi Princes are a greater show than when the Braavosi players come to visit."

"So I am a show to you?"

"Very entertaining to me, you're doing a very good job," Gael teased, smacking the flies biting and buzzing, little shit feet traced his cheeks and the sides of his lips as he spoke, irritating fuckers, "I definitely don't remember you, you sound so different from the Triarchs. They would have cut your tongue for speaking about slaves and freedom."

"You wish that slaves stayed where they were? Beneath your whip?"

"Oh no, I would rather they dream of cutting my neck, isn't that right Hoga!"

Hoga gave him a small favor by answering, "I said nothing Master."

"You are getting smarter Hoga," Gael took the cup drinking from it, watching the face of the man that preached equality, but like the Prince, he too had once felt the sting of bettering the lives of those less fortunate, that was until he saw the cruelty they could inflict on their Masters, given the opportunity, "enough about the slaves, what of my mother? She would have never kept you a secret. She is quite proud of her royal suitors. She would have told me the stories of your homeland?"

"Dorne," he reminded the boy.

"Yes, Dorne, the land from where the Rhoynish Nymeria made her berth."

"Married into the Martells," Oberyn supplied also, "you have heard the stories?"

"A few, maybe a bit less than you," they were his family after all, "but why have I not heard about you," Gael shared a look with the Prince, feeling like there was more that was going on, "A Prince would be remembered in Volantis, especially in my mother's home."

"This was eleven years ago," quite a while then, "you must not have been born yet," the Prince said easily, as if he was the more of a child than a growing man, "how old are you anyways? God that smell, I almost forgot it-"

That was when they made it to the center of the Long Bridge.

Where the heart of the putrid and rot aroma festered. Gael covered his nose, he could smell the necrotic flesh of collected and designed hands and heads. Body parts of criminals that did great wrong, receiving great punishment, as they passed the Long Bridge he turned his watery eyes. A message from the Masters of the Old Blood, one of the scenic attractions that stuck under Gael's nose no matter how many times he scrubbed, "Eleven. I am eleven."

"Funny," Oberyn looked at him curiously, his eyes squinting and watering too from the foul smells, it grew faint as Vox made it off the bridge, "your mother did not have children, she was not even pregnant when I was with her. You're father must have swept her up right after I left."

"I doubt it," Gael said watching the man wash down more red, "my father died in a blood ritual."

That was when Oberyn choked in his seventh cup of sweet red, "what did you say?"

"My Prince, Look!"

Hoga spoke loud enough to steal the show, "That is the Temple for the Lord of Light," she had nothing good to say, only it's arsonist followers did, "scary place, you won't catch me with those baby burners, creepers," white rock was made into steps, pillars, and domes with a wide mouth of inky deep black.

Gael knew the followers that dwelt there, "The Fiery Hand," he saw the tattooed flames on their priest cheeks. Into the darkness of the Temple they walked, statues of flames rising in the dark, Gael had never went, and he was content with observing how it consumed it's followers, but not him.

He looked back to the Prince, "Yes, the Blood Oak Ceremony, was the night I was conceived, my parents married under the Blood Moon, consummated in marriage, my mother plunged her dagger into his chest, and that is why-"

"You're mother did not plunge her dagger into anyone," Prince Oberyn corrected an irritated Gael, "where did you hear that from?"

"My mother-"

"Oh Vogarra," was his lament, as he rubbed his face, "what have you done-"

As they neared the Black Gate, Gael was entirely too confused, the Prince was keeping something secret, and in respect the younger was too caught up in his mind to motion for the guards and show that it was him.

They called out to him in Valyrian, _**"Raelagon remio! Skorverdon valoti?"**_

There was something off about the Prince.

" _ **Lanta**_ ," he called back the Valyrian word for two visitors.

Gael would have to take a chance if he kept up this charade of his mother's hospitality.

The proud Volatene in him felt less concerned, what could possibly happen in the Forbidden City?

 ** _"Sparo syt?"_** The wallmen were asking for Gael's name.

It would be impossible for the Prince to escape, for anyone to escape, if things went sour.

After all, the Prince was only one man, so Gael stood from the palanquin, his legs steady, "House of the Tiger, Gaelendro Daeragon Vogarro of the Old Blood," he yelled back, swatting at the flies, glad that they were leaving the decrepit part of Volantis.

They opened the gates, and Vox entered easily in, the wall-men letting them pass by,

but that was not what rubbed Gael the wrong way, "My mother does not lie to me."

"She has never lied to me," Gael felt the need to push the point farther to Prince Oberyn, as the were watched by his mother's prejudice Valryian people, they did not trust dark and dirty people, neither did Gael, "she is my blood," he had to remind the foreigner, "you are but a stranger here. Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," he agreed as they too voyeured on elephant-back into cloisters of palaces, lavish green and sparkling courtyards, skinny spiked black stoned towers rose from the Grand Palace, temples to Old Valyrian gods lined the main street, and below the earth Gael knew the cellars held ported wine as far west as Oldtown, and as far east as Yi Ti, "I forgot how ancient this place feels."

"Old Volantis," Gael said, as they passed under the sigil of a roaring Lion, "do you have something like this in Dorne?"

"There is nothing like this place," Prince Oberyn said in awe, taking in all the sights, "I have looked."

"Yes," Gael felt some pride now, glad to agree with him about something, "All that is missing is dragons and their dragonlords."

This was Old Volantis, home of those who could trace on paper their descent from Old Valyria.

 _Old_ , Gael heard the word far too many times.

"Your mother might surprise you, the things she keeps form you, " the Prince said as they got off Vox,

the elderly beast massive bones cracked as she was made to sit,

Hoga was sprightly, jumping off Vox's meaty head before them both, and offering her hand, "careful my Prince," she helped their guest first, Gael put out his own hand, but she left it hanging, only glaring at her displeased Master.

"What the hell Hoga? What are you doing?"

It was obvious,

Refusing to help him off, "My Master has no manners,"

she left him there to get off himself.

 _Impudent slave-girl._

If Gael didn't look like the racist pompous fool in front of the Prince,

he certainly did now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Vogarra**

* * *

The Boy Master stood to the side, coiling his whip, waiting for the slaves to gather the imports from the Merchant House, letters for his mother, and his grandmother's personal gifts to the Temple of Meraxes, and still he kept a wary eye on the Westerosi Prince.

Gael made a decision.

While the Prince was conversing with a few palace servants, that was when he actually listened to the gnawing in his abdomen, he was going to act, and he stepped toward Vox where his slave Hoga was trying to steal the Prince's attention, "stop that and come here."

He dragged her off, "what is it now Master?"

"Just shut-up, and for once do as I say," he heard himself say, as if the tables were going to turn and he was going to get his legs kicked from beneath him, and his sore ass would end up once more on the floor. It was not a good feeling.

"I don't see what your problem is," she was smiling like a dolt, laughing at his serious face.

"This is serious," Gael stopped a horse laughing Hoga from speaking to loudly, shaking her arm, and whispering in her ear, "Stay outside Hoga," he bid her, "I will take the Prince to my mother," but she grew upset with his exclusion.

"Why?"

He knew she would question him, "I need you to wait here."

That only made her more upset, "I never wait outside."

"This time is different," they both looked warily at the Prince, who chose to laugh loudly, slapping the back of a noble's back, whom grinned as if he was an old friend, "if you see him come back here without me, that means something went wrong," that was an understatement.

There was a flicker of amusement in Hoga's eyes, she thought he was overreacting again, _"What has he done wrong?"_

That was the point, "Nothing yet, but we must watch him closely," and Gael was hoping she would listen this time, instead of running off, "mind Vox."

She did not stick her tongue out at him as before in the safety of his grandmother's courtyard, there was too many purple eyes here, and for that they were both safer.

As they walked into the place, he questioned the Prince, "What makes you think my mother would surprise me, you have not seen her in eleven years," Gael humored the very tall man, his lanky legs were hard to keep up with, his red silk and copper metaled broad chest intimidating, and bare muscled arms darker than Gael's showed that he was no virgin to battle, "why do you assume such things my Prince?"

The Prince turned while walking, obviously knowing the way, "Have you ever seen your mother on her knees boy?"

Gael shivered, and not in a good way, "I can't say yes, if you mean it like that," the eleven-year old felt his mouth dry, and his belly plummet as they walked together through his mother's massive manse. He hated when men spoke of his mother sexually.

Oberyn walking confidently, "you don't know what your mother is capable of, she is powerful, unforgettable," he exclaimed in the soft sun lighted hallways,

Gael continued following, "All the things I never would want to know."

"Don't get me started on her tongue-"

"Oh the gods help me, great Syrax," Gael prayed the statue of Syrax the goddess of Love. She could possibly spare him this once.

Paintings of his ancestors and those of Malaquo Maegyr took up most of the walls, a large portrait of his stepfather was the largest, he had a large hand around a dragon head goblet, and an even bigger hand on his goddess mother's thigh, her violet eyes daring the viewer to guess her intentions, Gael did not have to guess.

The Boy Master knew that this man was her puppet to rule Old Volantis, she did everything possible to keep it that way, she was probably on her knees every night for things to stay- _wait, disgusting, vile, the sacred bond between child and mother was never meant to be so deprave._

"You ruined my mind Westerosi."

The Prince laughed at an abnormally serious boy for his age, "your welcome."

The Westerosi was something else, and the boy watched him in deep thought.

The Prince sang a tune about a Dornishman's Wife as they made it to the inner sanctum of the house, the living quarters, the servants bowed as they made way, "then lead the way, my son," he repeated grandmother's affectionate name for him, and Gael did not like it, not liking or trusting this man by the second.

The Westerosi liked taunting him, he did so again, "oh don't look at me like that, your mother is a woman I could never forget, a woman I respect very much, despite the wrongs she has done, she is very resourceful. It makes me love her all the more-"

 _Love,_

the man was just another of his mother's fools, this could be interesting, "Well, that changes things," Gael smiled politely up at the man, leading the way now that they were in private quarters, his mother's lavish touch on the walls of gold and red ruby gemmed statues meant that her rooms were next, "and I hope I never see the reason why you think that," the Prince laughed at his joke.

Gael was a little proud that the royal thought so highly of his mother,

his grandmother whispered in his head, _this could mean great things for our family._

"Jericho, there you are," he saw the bald ebony skinned slave, the Head servant of his mother's house came through the door, right on time, "do you know where mother is?"

His hand swept to open the door, "Come in young Lord," he bowed too, his exotic accent trilling at the end, "and his most welcome friend," his eyes never straying from the ground, and entirely too submissive, that is why Gael kept Hoga, because she kept him on his toes, irritating but fun all the same.

Gael walked quickly into the moist hot-watered room,

knowing to walk around the small pool of magicked water,

darkening sky reflected in the water, and he hopped up a few white marbled steps to his mother's inner sanctum, her bedroom.

His mother was in front of her mirror again, preparing for the night, "Mother!"

She giggled when he appeared, "Gael, you came," she had a deeper voice than most woman, and she used it more than most, "I was coming to get you," she put a giant blue pearl earing on her ear, her bodacious curves in blue chiffon silk rippled as she turned in front of the goddess illusion, her milky legs and breasts peeked out from her cut and well-formed dress, her usual, "you are so impatient Gael, did your grandmother send you," she was not upset, she put on a tiara of pure silver, fixing her blonde silver curls.

"No, I left early."

"What will we do with you my son? Never mind that now," she searched in her chest of his clothes, "I have something for you to wear, but even if you wore a few weeks past, I know I put it somewhere-"

He had the answer, he hugged her tall leg, "I brought a Prince Oberyn Martell to meet you," he watched the way her silver locks fell over her shoulder as she looked for the visitor, her violet eyes wide for some reason, "he was just at grandmother's house, and he wanted to see if he could meet with you -"

"Why would you bring him," she was kneeling now, Oberyn's words rung in his head as his mother's hands grasped at his own youthful face, his own raven locks, and the exotic tan skin on his arms, "what have you done Gael? You should not have brought him-"

"Hello to you too Vogarra," Prince Oberyn leaned against the pillar,

and Gael felt his back stretch as he reached for his whip, he would defend his mother.

"You tricked me," he could not believe his grandmother had let this trickster into his mother's safe home, to do her harm no doubt, jealous bastard, "I will not let you harm her, Guards, Guards!" Gael screamed.

"Silence my son," his mother covered Gael's mouth, taking charge of the situation, "what do you want Oberyn?"

 _Oberyn?_

The Prince pulled out a piece of inked paper, "I was coming to meet Naera Tarinarys, no doubt she told you of her visit to Lys five years past."

Mother did not say anything.

He continued all the same, "she sent me a letter," Prince Oberyn passed it to his mother, who took it leisurely in her heavy bracelet hand, "she has my bastard, she wanted me to come and collect."

"Congratulations," was his mother's dry reply, she only glanced at the letter before returning it, a pleasantry, "I can call for Nae to meet us at dinner-" Vogarra moved past her son, her bangles on her ankles and wrists clinked against one another musically, "if you would follow me I will take you to her, come-"

Oberyn did not move from the pillar, "Why would I do that?"

"Oh Oberyn, come now," his mother even tried leading the man, donning her flirtatious eyes, this irritated Gael as much as it irritated the Prince, "please come this way. Do not be difficult, I want to hear about all your travels-"

"Why would I leave after finding my son?"

 _Naera Tarinarys had a son?_

Gael did not know the Tarinarys' toddler was a boy, hearing it's keen wailing in one of the villas and the dresses it had on, Gael had assumed it was a girl, the rumors circulating like vultures above the Lady Tarinarys' house confirmed it, and those of her bastard daughter as the babe had once cried and screamed for the tit and to be accepted into the prestige of the strict Volantis sect.

Vogarra giggled once more, her hand over her full lips, "He is not your son-"

"Tell me," the Prince lifted his arm in the air, a fist and his finger judging, and his voice loud, "tell me that he is not my son. Give me one more lie, and I will do what Gael first thought-"

"Leave Gael out of this," Vogarra came running past Oberyn, taller than him, daughter to a war hero, his big-boned mother, and she kneeled once more next to her only child, "he is innocent. He is mine, and this is my home."

"Yes, I believe we have established that-"

"Then I suggest you leave before I too call the guards. They will come-"

"Mother," Gael heard himself say.

She had heard him, her eyes pleading, but this time not for her protection, because she was afraid of what this man could do to him, do for him.

It was making sense now: his grandmother's anger at running off with him, his mother's reaction to his name, the familiarity, this man's skin, his raven locks, and even the shape of his eyes,

it was the same Gael saw when he looked in the mirror, _"mother, who is he?"_

"Yes," Prince Oberyn hissed, "go on tell him some lie about you killing me. That will make him love you so much more."

"I will not lie to him," Vogarra said plainly, she placed her hands upon her son, patronizing them both, "this is your father Gael," she might have called him bastard with that tone, distasteful, his mother was upset, "he has come to take your bastard sister, and steal you from me."

"I came do no such thing," Oberyn uncrossed his arms, his eyes passionate, "I would never steal a child from it's mother's house, I give my children a choice-"

"The same choice you gave that Oldtown whore, I heard the rumors, you think I would tell you that you had a son, when you steal children from their mother's dying arms-"

"It was not like that, and you know it-"

His mother had the answer, "How am I supposed to know, it's been eleven years, how am I supposed to know what Vipers believe to be right, what the Red Viper believes is right-"

"Bitch you are crazy," the Red Viper cursed her, not many had lived to do so, "telling him you killed his father, probably made him incompetent to love anyone but you, what life is that-"

"A life better than someone's bastard son," in Essos the life of a bastard was not as harsh as it was in the prude life of Westeros, "here he will be worshiped, here Gael will be a god," he doubted it, his mother was embellishing of course, "and a Triarch when he comes of age."

At least the last part could come true.

"He would be no bastard," that silenced his mother, and surprised Gael as well.

His mother rubbed his raven locks, her son tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but his mother still repeated the foul name, "He is a bastard."

Oberyn thought differently, "No, he is not. I married you Vogarra, to whatever demon Gods you worshiped, I married you still."

His mother's smile grew, predatory, "I am married once more," she said with pride, "to a man far more powerful than a second-born Prince," Oberyn moved to slap her, but Gael used his whip, whipping and lashing on the man's hand away.

"Do not touch her," Gael said to the man he knew now was his father. For he made that same angry look whenever his mother told him something awful too, except now he could see how mean it would look to others, how murderous.

His father rubbed his cut hand, staring at him, as if he could steal him away with it, "you are a Martell. Gael Martell," he called him, and Gael did not know what to believe anymore, "you could have my name."

His mother shut it down, "We are not married anymore-"

"I could say you died, made me a widower," Oberyn said simply, "no one would need to know a thing about you Vogarra. If you could allow others to believe that-"

Vogarra exhaled, her head whipping between them both, until she decided upon Gael, his mother's eyes were sweet now, the same ones she lied with, "Could you my son?"

"Could I what mother?"

Her hands felt hot against his cheek, "could you repeat his lie, live in Dorne, be his son," Gael could not stop the excitement pouring into his soul.

 _Westeros,_

the lands beyond across the Narrow Sea, the ones that only lived in his books, he could be the son of a Prince, a son to a royal in strange lands, filled with history, tales of other great heroes, and get away from the grasp of his otherwise lying serpent of a mother.

Gael played with the thought, "Would it be a lie?"

Her violet eyes were flames, discipline would surely come, "Of course it would be a lie, I am your mother, I am the one that is supposed to protect you, that is all that matters Gael," his love for her was growing dull, her words less comforting, "with me, I will bring you so much power, prestige, your name will always be remembered, that is what you want, you have told me this, you will have it all, all that and more," the more she pleaded, the more his ire rose, and his small chest could only take so much, "I will give you this manse, give you the House of the Tiger-"

He did not want that"-stop Mother!"

She did stop, Gael released his ire, "why are you doing this mother, why did you lie, I could have had a father, I could have known who I was!?"

"You are my son," she said simply, as if he was the one throwing a tantrum, "you do not belong in their world. Stay here," he turned his head away, and she turned it back, "Stay with me, if not, I will let you live with your grandmother if you like. Be angry with me my son," she at least allowed him that, "but do not ever believe you can leave me."

 _Was that a threat?_

Gael felt his decision materialize, "Mother am I a freedman?"

"What type of question is that, of course you are free-"

"Then can I not choose what I want in my life," Gael pulled her hands away, the bangles clicking was the only noise that upset their shared look, she was not happy, but neither was Gael, "I want to see father's world. I want to see this Westeros, let me make my own decisions and opinions of his world."

She looked as if she was going to slap him, at least yank his ear, and send him to his room without food for the day.

Gael's surprise grew tenfold, when she indirectly agreed, "you will regret this," she looked up at Oberyn, her fury growing, "I will never forgive you for this. For turning him against me."

Those words cut into Gael.

"Me as well my beloved," Oberyn teased happily, slapping the frozen boy's back, "come Gael, after we fetch your sister, we leave in the morning."

The boy in him came back, "Mother, please," Gael did not want to leave her like this, he loved her, even with her flaws of vanity and possession for owning him like a piece in her cyvasse game, "I didn't mean to upset you-"

"You broke my heart," his mother corrected him, not a tear in her eyes, but her arms shaking as she held herself against the shimmering marble pillar, her purple eyes would haunt him, "go on, don't come when he abandons you or you upset some Lord for bedding his whore daughter."

"Mother, I wouldn't!"

"Gael," Oberyn called from the door, "come!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Embark  
**

* * *

Gael turned his back when his mother would not see him, would not listen, it was drowning him, and he felt the water getting deeper as he left her, entering his lungs, and her emotional daggers dug deeper into his back as he fled.

"What's wrong with you," Hoga noticed it, _of course she would._

"Shut-up Hoga," was the best he could come up with, "leave me alone," the pain was worse was the time that flew by did not help the agony of leaving her.

"Fine Master, do what you want," she growled, turning her whole body away, upset with him.

While Gael could not think, his tongue felt swollen, his eyes itchy, he wiped the tears as he returned to the east banks, the Black Wall was a black line in the west, a shadow fortress in the night, across the Rhoyne.

His home was unreachable to him now, "stop it boy," Oberyn slapped his back once again, and Gael moved away from him, not done moping for his mother, he repeated the same thing as they left Old Volantis, "I did not force you to come. I gave you the choice."

"I know father," he bit back refraining from any rude comments about how little convincing he was given to leave his mother, and what that really meant for how he viewed his parents.

It hurt Gael to believe that just a few kind words from his father would change his entire definition of the woman that bore him into this world.

Instead he covered his betraying eyes, turning to his entourage of Volatene and friends, and just in time to see a obscenely old woman, hobbling straight for him, " _grandmother?"_

He was slapped this time,

hard,

harder than he thought she could slap, and whacked repeatedly with her fan, he protected his head, "you ungrateful brat. Return to your mother this instant."

"I can't," he stood taller, she stopped hitting him when he caught the fan, but Gael refrained from rubbing his abused cheek, not in front of her at least, "you know I cannot go back on my word."

"What does honor get you boy," she spit her green phlegm upon the docks, Prince Oberyn's crew were watching them, "What did I teach you about honor?"

The words meant more now, "It will get you killed."

"Then what in great Balerion's name are you doing now? All my work, all your mother's work, your future will be cold shit for our enemies to step over, is that what you want, is that what you want for Vogarro's name to become," people were openly staring at the widow of the waterfront with more than curious eyes, they were judging, she rarely left her Square, and the sight of her guards must meant something was momentous happening, _or would._

"I would not shame my grandfather," Gael made the symbol of peace upon his forehead, "I would see our family prosper grandmother, I can do much in my father's world, make far more connections, make you and mother both proud."

"Then why must you leave to do that," that was the problem she held against him, "why? When you already make us proud here, learning here, where you can be better protected?"

He could see his life here, same dull days in the sun, riding upon an Vox, and not a day to his own choices, "I will be a man one day, and when that day comes, I have to be my own man," the Prince Oberyn had told him earlier, "a man must make his own path in the world, be a man worth remembering."

The widow grabbed his boyish and hairless chin, squeezing, probably hoping he would gain her own wisdom through the shared pain, "No one will remember you if you die a boy Gael."

"I won't die a boy, this I pledge to the great Balerion," the boy took out the scabbard at his hip, the one his mother gave on his second birthday, it once belonged to Grandfather Vogarro before her, she recognized it, he cut into his palm,

" _blood of my blood,_

 _bone of my bone,_

 _mind of my mind,_

 _I make this pledge before all the Lords that came before me,  
_  
 _and those that will come after._

 _This is my pledge to Vogarro's wife._

Grandmother, do you take it?"

His hand was weeping blood, it dribbled down his arm, but what mattered most was the war going on in her mind, weighing the benefits of his voyage to Westeros, of what he would see, and do with his time so far away from the safety of her courtyard. The mind war he had yet to learn. Gael felt his hand quiver, everyone could see that he made the oath, and her rejection would dishonor them both.

She did not wait longer than those terrible seconds, "I take it," she took the bloody scabbard doing the same to her palm, upset that he had taken the lengths of the Dragonlord's vow, "even if I do not like it."

"Thank you," his grandmother had cut into her shawl to tie it around his bleeding palm, he had cut far deeper than she had, perhaps she had much more practice with blood oaths, and he, bothered by the sheer fabric rubbing painfully into his wound, had much to prove.

"I promise to bring glory to grandfather's name-"

She shushed him, "I don't care about that Gael. You must promise to not honor anyone but yourself," she pushed a bag of honors into his hand, "no cunt, no father's den of vipers," she glared at Oberyn that was giving orders upon the swan ship, "will protect you, more than you protect yourself. Send word and I will have one of my _Widows Sons_ come and fetch you."

"I got this grandmother," he could not believe how little faith they had in him, he pocketed the gift, "I will return. I vow to return, but I will see my father's world. See what I can become in it."

This time the Widow tugged him into a hug, confusing him, "you sound like your grandfather."

"He sounds like me, like a Martell," Oberyn came to ruin the moment, his saturnine face was changed into a carefree smirk, he had got what he wanted, "the ship will be off, we got calm waters, good winds," it was late night, apparently he wanted to leave sooner rather than later, everyone believed his mother would come with guards to chop off his head, and take back the Volantis' bastards he had taken.

"Take care of my grandson Prince Oberyn," his grandmother ordered him.

"I will take care of my son," he said back happily, "come Gael, before the Feathered Kiss leaves without us."

He did have a point, "Come Hoga," Gael called to his problematic shadow, he left his grandmother and her entourage, not turning around for the comfort of his grandmother's familiar face, "we will be off now."

"Yes Master," she hugged a few of her own slave friends,

and the Widow rubbed the girl's head for luck.

"Watch my grandson, make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

"I will," Hoga stuck her tongue out at him when no one was paying attention, but Gael knew better. His slave was enjoying all the praise of going off with the Widow's grandson, they had spoke of the adventures that they would take, and now it was happening.

They were departing, when a little voice asked him, "Who are you?"

Gael and Hoga turned to see a small child, straight black braid, tanned skin, high-cheekbones, and the same dark eyes as his father. Gael could see the similarity between him and his half sister, their dark skin, raven hair, but that was where it ended, "you must be Naera's daughter," he said patting his bastard sister's head, "what is your name little one?"

"Fuck you," the toddler said with a grin, and just walked away.

Gael could not understand what just happened.

Hoga could not stop laughing.

"I am going to regret coming," Gael said aloud, they leaned against the side of departing vessel, his grandmother waving, the crowd dispersing, meanwhile he was watching his father from the corner of his eye, and how the Dornish man joked with the Summer Isles crew rather than pay him any heed, "I should have thought this through."

"You're getting stupider _widow's son_."

"I know," Gael sighed to Hoga, looking up at the white mast of the ship finally taking off west of the Sunset Bay, and to his father's lands, "I know."

* * *

 **o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

 **The Rising Sun**

 **o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

* * *

 **King's Landing**

They descended into the third level,

into the dark cells,

the portly and unkempt gaolor Rugen watching them pass into their pitch black domain, undergaolors opening the doors as they dared to go deeper into the depths of the Red Keep, rat-eyed sentinels giving yellow cracked sneers for the Princess of Dorne, Rhaegar felt her inch closer to him, "Elia, you shouldn't be coming down here, it isn't safe."

She took his hand to jump over a dark brown puddle, "This is my fault too Rhaegar."

He pushed on a bolted door the cold wind of the lower level being disturbed, they were getting closer to the very back of the third level, it had been a long time since he had come down here, no one came of their free will, "What if my father caught us down here? He would punish us Elia, you most especially," he could see her dark features become troubled, and set in a stubborn frown.

"He won't."

She sounded so sure, Rhaegar rolled his eyes, "you should fear him Elia, he is not what he seems, you should be careful around him."

Her sweet voice answered, "Then we can be careful together. You are his son, I am sure you could make him see reason."

" _Reason?"_ Rhaegar turned on her, the torch in his hand casting his betrothed face in an ominous flicker, "do you think my father cares what happens to me? Did you not hear him? He is displeased with me, he threatens me with replacing me with my _baby brother_. He sees enemies everywhere."

"But your brother is an infant," she finds it silly.

"Yes he is," Rhaegar has learned his father's moods better than even Tywin Lannister, "Viserys is growing stronger everyday he says, an infant would serve the Realm better. Worse, I am beginning to believe him, you should see the way he looks at me, like he wants to," Rheagar swallowed the saliva in his mouth, not wanting to continue.

"Serves him right that you fight back," Elia was teasing him now, catching his morbid tone, "you do the one thing no one else wants to do, you tell the King when he is wrong," Rhaegar inched closer, only hoping she would be quiet when she said such things, she must have saw it, she whispered, "that is why he can't stand you Rhaegar."

He raised a delicate silver eyebrow, not so worried about being caught, but on the fact that her bravery glowed in the darkness, "You are being very frank with me Princess Elia."

"You are right Crown Prince Rhaegar," she leaned up, daringly close to his chin, only to slip the torch from his tall hand, he let her, "but someone has to be."

He followed her, his hand finding hers in the shadow of the torch, "And if my father catches us?"

"Then he catches us."

"It would hurt me to see something happen to you," it truly would, "next time you will stay where it is safe-"

She turned on him, leaning up, and Rhaegar at the last moment knew to bend his neck so she could kiss him, stealing the surprise from his lips, a stolen kiss, but Rhaegar didn't know whom was the thief, "but he catches us together," she breathed against his parted mouth, her confidence was becoming of her, and he wondered _,_ _why_ he had questioned his mother's choice for a bride? No Lysian blooded woman of some distant Targaryen relative could have been so honest to him, have made him dare to try for happiness.

"This is it Elia," he said, catching her arm before turning around another corner in the endless labyrinth of footsteps echoing, and opening the latch with the key around his neck, "father keeps the worst ones in here."

She did not seem to understand, it did not appear any different than the rows of other wooden jail doors, "Why?"

He did not give her an answer, instead,

Rhaegar opened the jail door.

Mice scrammed from the torchlight, running over pale legs, moldy straw older than both of them combined littered the floor, tattered rags of two female bodies moved with the torchlight, shielding their sensitive eyes, " _by the gods_ ," Elia covered her mouth.

Rhaegar's face paled, hating this room, asking the question in his heart, "who did this? Who moved you here?"

The Septa's face was disfigured, "it was a Kingsgaurd and the King himself," an ugly red gash ran down one of her soft cheeks, it looked infected, the wound was not half as bad as what the woodswith had sustained from her own beating.

"She needs someone, a Maester, please," said the Septa, beginning to cry, her keen weeping echoing down the damp and dark hallways, "they grabbed her, and threw her, and threw her until she wasn't moving-"

"Who did this," Elia bent down to the abused little woman, "who would do this?"

The bundle of the woodswitch turned to them, and they all took a step back from the sight.

The abused body did not speak, it guarded it's severely broken arm, her once long mane had been cut at the scalp and in some places they had taken the skin of her scalp too. Her face was caked blood, swollen shut eyes, and dumped in something dark and foul, and her little chest, someone had carved the symbol of the seven pointed star. A maliciously intended joke to one that prayed to the Old Gods.

Elia turned on him, tears in her eyes, "who would do this?"

Rhaegar looked at the work of a mad man, and felt… _guilt._

Of course he knew the answer, anyone in King's Landing with an ounce of sense would, but that was not the reason why his heart was in his mouth, feeling like a broken-hearted woman.

This broken body, prostrated on the floor, it reminded him of... when he had been just a small child, he had remembered bloody lips, searching hands, pale flesh too naked for a child, and screams for help.

"When I was a small boy, around four summers," he heard himself say, reliving the experience, "my mother would have me sing to her," his fingers moved with tandem, "I could play the harp for her too, I was so bad at it," his chuckle felt off, "my fingers were never strong enough, but she still smiled when I played to her, clapping her hands with each practice," the memory was tainted, "and one morning, he came in, slamming the doors, throwing things, and my mother told me…" Rhaegar did not have to utter his name, they knew, the son of the monster felt the tremors coming, he held his hands together, "my mother told me to get under the bed, so I did, she told me to be quiet, so I was, and then they were arguing, screaming, that was never the scary part. She never fought him," that was what made it all the more painful, "she never wanted to fight."

"You don't have to do this Rhaegar," Elia had stood, holding his arm, like a broken wing, "you don't have to relive it."

"I have too," he scrunched his eyes, remembering, "I was under the bed, and he blamed my mother for breaking something or seeing someone without his permission, but now I knew it was because Joanna Lannister had died, and he was grieving for her."

"Aerys loved the Lannister girl very much," said the Septa quietly, Rhaegar had forgotten that she was there in the first place.

"It doesn't excuse what he did to my mother," the handsome broken Prince spitted the words, but held back his ire, refusing to lose control, "he threw my mother on the bed and proceeded to rape her, I didn't know what was happening then, I was only four, but I could hear her, what he did, and then I saw her hand, it was reaching under the bed, for me," Rhaegar lifted his already grown hand bitterly, now it looked more like his fathers, and that just spurned him on,"and I took her hand, while he did what he did, and afterwards, she didn't hold mine anymore-"

"Oh Rhaegar," Elia hiccuped through the tears.

"so I came out from under the bed, and I," he felt how quiet the cell had become, he wanted to disappear with it.

Elia was openly sobbing now, rubbing his arm, while the Septa had put her head between her legs, "oh Rhaegar, I am so sorry," his betrothed pitied him.

He did not mind it, her words were meant to be kind, "That was a long time ago."

"I was married to a Prince once," the Septa said out of nowhere, not minding her interruption, "a Targaryen Prince, the Prince of Dragonflies," Rhaegar froze in recognition of the song and story, and Elia noticed this, the Septa continued, "he gave up a kingdom to be my husband, and I couldn't even give him a child," she laughed, but it was false, "when I lost him… I promised myself I would never return here, no matter what happened to his family."

"You're Jenny of Oldstones," Rhaegar said aloud, "you're my Great Aunt."

"Not anymore," said the Septa, fixing her cowl, "now I am a traitor to the crown, and I will share my fate with my woodswitch," she seemed set in her fate, "tell your Queen Mother that I am sorry-

-that we should have listened to her instead of the prophecy of a madwoman," she glared bitterly at her cell partner, the woodswitch seemed dead to her now, how convenient for the Septa's rage, "I never should have followed you, why did you bring me here? To die! You wanted to die in this shit-hole!"

No one expected an answer,

but an answer did come.

" _You will die in the desert_ ," uttered the woodswitch in a tone that only a corpse could make,

getting up to a sitting position, only the way a possessed person could,

to look with unseeing eyes at her horrified Septa,

and the voice that scared Rhaegar senseless,

spoke again,

" _you will die in a ditch built for another,_

 _with a smile across your face,_

 _but you will die all the same_."

The woodswitch's head turned, like an unfeeling statue, her burst crimson eyes, bled down her cheeks, staring at the Prince,

" _You will die in a lake of your dreams, a lake of rubies_ ," her voice turned hoarse,

like a stone grating against another stone, " _you will die, and your memory will be golden for awhile,_

 _but your mother will still be reaching,_

 _long when your body has been corrupted and rotted in the ground_."

"Woodswitch," Elia seemed terrified, "why are you saying these things?"

The woodswitch finally turned to her, " _you will die in a bed of your own making,_

 _A mountain will tear you in half,_

 _You will never see your children grow,_

 _And your death will destroy the one you hold closest to you."_

Elia ran into Rhaegar's chest with the last prophecy,

hiding her traumatized eyes from the badly beaten woodswitch that began to seize so terribly,

it was as if some invisible force was latched upon her, refusing to release,

when it finished, she finally fell over, a terrible thump to the ground, echoing down the dark cells,

at last unmoving, _dead._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Narrow Sea**

* * *

"All hands on deck!"

A sleeping Gael was hit with a flying boot, jostled from his makeshift hammock, and sent up the single footed stairs to help the crew stabilize the swan ship's main deck.

He found the morning sun rays had been left behind for stormy lightning skies, and beside his father, he tied his waist with a rope that would help him just as much as the last time he was thrown from the _Feathered Kiss_ into the dark salty waters.

As he helped pull at the mast, wet sea foam and rain from the sky pelted his abused face, it seemed as if the rain came from above, and below, stinging his eyes, it was hard to see his father, "You said there would be no storms!"

His father whipped his soaked head around, he did not like it either, "Kai! Where did this come from!"

A man with a purple beard and Myrish glasses around his neck answered, he was at the helm, wiping water from his eyes, refusing to let the wheel spin the way the sea wanted, "This is Shipbreaker Bay, My Prince, these are the _Stranger's waters_!"

A woman with a large tar hat, pierced black nose, and a pregnant belly joined them, her skin was darker than any Gael had ever seen, and that made her white teeth pop, "Don't worry love, I will protect you!"

"My beloved sea-goddess," Gael's father humored her, taking her into the hands that should be helping his struggling son, "come to save us have you!"

"That's right! I never let this sea fuck me over, isn't that right boys," the Captain was not joking, Captain Chatana of the Summer Islands commanded her crewmen with little room for error, "Lars! Which way are you going Lars! I told you turn that sail, slack, windwood, brace it, I said brace it, HOLD THE PENDANT LINE! HOLD-" She commanded, she was right there taking over for the man, she was strong for one heavy with child.

Despite her womanly condition, the Captain of the Feathered Kiss never stopped.

She was mad with her confident attitude, but she had to be.

Gael had never seen such voracious waters waiting to swallow them whole.

None of these tempestuous tides had existed near the Orange Shore, in the sweet warm Lys tides, or near the warring cluster of Tyroshi islands, and now as they neared their next destination, the island of _Tarth_ , _the Sapphire Isle_ , the Boy Master had his fill of traveling on the open seas.

"I will have to have a word with the Stranger than," Prince Oberyn smiled at the chaos of the deck, speaking of his Seven Gods, "give him a taste of my Captain's fine cunt, maybe that will put him in a better mood," the men cheered, and the Captain Chatana pulled on his father's mustache before kissing him in the rain and before her otherwise occupied crew.

The only boy on the deck full of men did not feel the happiness his father must be feeling.

Gael was soaking wet. Gael was pissed. Gael did not believe that being a Prince's son was all that great if he had to shit, eat, and work with men that were no better than the slaves they whipped in the street. His back arched, his arms felt like melons, and his feet were cracked and dried out from the lapse in lotions, oils, and fine things his mother would have him bathe in.

The crew began to sing again, sun parched dark skin, raggedy flea-infested beards, and blistered lips, had never sounded a worse chorus,

" _Shipbreaker Bay,_

 _Shipbreaker Bay,_

 _What a wonderful day to die in Shipbreaker Bay!"_

When Gael was once again knocked on his ass from a sprinting man,

he cursed under his breath, he had his full of the Westerosi Prince life,

and he promised himself when they reached King's Landing, he was going to do as the colorful crew gossiped what he would do.

Gael heard them talking about him, when they thought he could not listen,

but he heard them, " _He's going to run off to his Mama."_

" _He's not like his father, too much pomp Lord in him."_

" _He won't last the week."_

" _Won't last the day."_

Gael had been disrespected, he was not a coward. He had promised himself, he would not tuck tail and run home. But time and stress did something to him, Gael no longer cared for his broken pride, as long as he could sleep in feathered sheets and plush pillows, and take a long satisfying shit without someone rushing him, that was when he began to pray, "Oh the gods of my fathers, Dreadful Balerion, Great Mother Meraxes, Tessarion of the Mighty Seas, watch over our ship and my life-"

"Prayer will do you no good," a man with no teeth, and a full flea infested beard laughed in Gael's face, he smelt of soured milk, "you look like a wet rat boy. Boo-hoo go on and cry for your mommy!"

This should not have upset Gael as much as he first thought, but it only grew when his father and the crew joined in laughter at his expense. The ship was threatening to topple over, and here they were making a joke out of him.

Gael's rage blew his sense away, Fuck them all to the Fourteen Flames, "fuck you then, you swine, I should have your hands and head cut off and cast into the sea, take this you pig," he yelled back in the face of the disgusting backward man, a lowly commoner, not worthy of his time, and taking his boyish fist, Gael gave him a solid punch to his muscled stomach.

It did little good, it barely made a dent in the man.

The peasant only hit him square in the face, harder than he ever could, knocking Gael's head into the floorboard of the Feathered Kiss.

The man would have punched him again if it wasn't for his father taking the hit, holding down the man he tackled over, and having the crew join him in laughing through the tension.

The scruff and flea infected peasant pointed one of his meaty sausages at the defeated and bloody nosed Gael, whom was being lifted to his feet by the Captain Chatana, "You better watch him Prince, I would have killed him! Tell him to behave Captain, tell him, or I will make him."

"It's over Dain," she said to the angered crew-member, "you got your hit."

"It was a good hit," His father played peacemaker, "He won't say anymore. Calm down, its all good fun!"

"Calm _him_ down," the bearded peasant named Dain said, wiping his bloody hand across his chest, and finally backing off, "or I will make him."

After they got the ship under hold, the Prince and his son went below, one nose broken, blood gushing through Gael's rope burned fingers, and a vomiting Hoga in the corner of the room was the first to notice, "What happened to your nose?"

Gael couldn't even speak, "Utuph."

"He looks funny," his bastard sister Nym on the other hand was in no better health than his slave girl, but she was the only one that got rest around here, "he go wah wah wah wah-"

Hoga was more interested in, "What happened to your nose, show me it," he let his hand drop for a moment, "oh, ha, you look ridiculous," despite her sickness that did not mean she could not enjoy what had happened, Hoga could not stop her smug smiling, "Someone fucked you up!"

"Fuck you -Oga," Gael told her,

and that was when he was pulled from his ponytail, and this time he could do nothing because it was the Prince, _his father._

Oberyn did not stop pulling until Gael yelped trying to break free, "Hey, I hope that woke you up! That is enough, do you like getting a broken nose? Do you like when a man beats you bloody?"

It was hard to speak around his nose, and him painfully tearing his hair from the roots.

"Answer me!"

He was just about to, "You dwo i' all time-"

His father understood him all the same, he let him drop to his seat, "Does not matter if I do it, Gael, what if I was not there? You would have been beaten to an inch of your stupid life. Who has taught you how to fight?"

Gale lifted the whip he had left behind, "I -ad my whip!"

His father apprehended it only to throw it against the ship's cabin wall, Gael was not allowed to pick it up, "What are you going to do now? Your whip cannot always save you boy, what are you eleven? I could take down a man when I was ten, _Gods,_ from now on you will be taught by me, no ifs or buts. What I say goes, and the next time a man tells you off, bite your tongue until you know you can win."

Gael nodded.

What else could he do?

Without his grandmother or mother to protect him, _he was just some Prince's bastard son, right_?

"Fuck," he muttered as his father left them below, Nym trying to catch mice, and Hoga trying not to die.

"I guess this is the part where you pretend you didn't get your ass handed to you."

"No," Gael groaned, ignoring them all, "I didn't."

She laughed.

Hoga was insufferable, even more than before.

She smelled worse than before,

spitting into her bowl of vomit,

and enjoying him getting a piece of his own medicine.

"Gael," it was his father that broke the silence, he was back.

His father took the seat next to him, both their knees touched, but both of them didn't want to give in.

Prince Oberyn relented, when the tension got too thick, "I can protect you son, but only if you behave when I am not there," his Father with all his lustful righteous attitude, took Gael's full head of raven hair and kissed it, "My job is to protect you, I want to protect you."

 _A kiss? Did that happen?_ Never had a grown man done that to Gael, this affection, he only believed women were meant for such things, fathers were only good for war and fucking, but those where his mother's words. Words he was beginning to believe less and less.

"Me too, me too, my kiss, my kiss," an excited ball of energy Nym had just noticed Father was not giving her attention, and she hugged his knee with her small body, smiling, sticking her tongue out at Gael (she got that from Hoga), no doubt his half-sister was going to be as territorial as her mother Naera had been when she found out Prince Oberyn had fathered several bastards before he got with her.

Gael righted his nose, hoping it would set fine, "Fine."

"Good," Prince Oberyn closed his eyes, but there was a smile there.

Gael rolled on his side.

Hiding the infectious smile that wormed it's way on his own face.

* * *

 **Landfall**

His first impression of Westeros was, _relief._

Never had he missed the feel of soil and the smell of pine.

Still, his broken nose... was the forefront of his attention, it was swelling, ugly and pink.

"Oh, great, this is just perfect," Gael touched the bridge of his already setting nose, the call of seagulls, and his feet on dry stone ground should have made him thankful, but it did not, "How does it look?"

Hoga was standing with him, the only one his age in a company of busy bodied sailors, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"Always bad first," it was better to just get it over with.

 _Rip the nail from the skin rather than sticking the wood under the fingernail,_ as his grandmother had put it once. Men would do almost anything under torture, and if not there were other ways, Gael was not one for suffering.

"It looks fine Gael, just a bump," Hoga tried poking it, and Gael moved his head away, irritated with her, and looking around at the crew that was unloading cargo at the Sapphire Isle, Hoga chuckled to herself, "hey Gael, come on, you are still a pretty boy."

 _Pretty Boy?_

He was not one of his grandmother's boy whores, but...Gael felt his chest flutter with Hoga's silly words.

 _What the hell was that,_ he thought, and he quickly looked away from the high meadows that crawled to the base of a far off waterfall cascading down a steep grey mountaintop, and back to the curious grin of his slave girl, and at last turning himself away entirely so he could right his pants, just a bit, "You think I am pretty Hoga?"

She rubbed her cherry red nose with her sleeve, not seeing his hidden boner, and sneezing in far cooler air than any winter in Volantis, or any they had ever experienced, "no, you are still as shitty as a horse's ass, and as arrogant as a pomp Lord so I guess you still have to deal with that, hey! Stop it-"

Gael pulled on both of her large hooped ears, and kicked her behind, and she still found it funny, kicking him too, "that is no way to speak to your Master! Don't kick me, you insufferable slave-"

"Gael," his father found him, his eyes were pinched, his mouth grim, "stop talking like that."

"She is disobeying me," Hoga stuck her tongue at him.

His father muttered when he got them away from the prying eyes of the crew, "She is not your slave anymore Gael," Gael almost cracked his neck with how fast his head turned.

"And why is she not my slave?"

"This is Westeros, there are no slaves here."

His father might have just given Hoga the permission she wanted, because before Gael even had the chance, she was running off, screaming at the top of her lungs about being freed, "Hoga come back here right now!"

She was enjoying this far too much, "No, I am a freed woman!"

He was tempted to give chase, cursing his father's foolish words, "HOGA! COME HERE!"

She did come back, and he held his shaking hand from slapping her, not only because his father was watching, but he feared that she would run again, and this time she would not return to him.

* * *

 **o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

 **The Rising Sun**

 **o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

* * *

 **King's Landing**

Queen Rhaella Targaryen was sewing in her quarters, trying to have a peaceful morning.

Her ladies kept her company, making it impossible to do so.

"I am not his pet," said one of her obnoxiously loud handmaidens.

The noble Lady Bracken had barely used her sewing needle this fine morn, instead piercing with her unladylike words as if that made her more productive in some way, "he can't order me to come like one of his bitches, _who does he think he is?"_

"You're husband," answered Lady Blackwood, her other noble ladies found it funny, and Queen Rhaella smiled as she finished the red and gold rose she had been sewing since the day before, for once enjoying her ability to remain invisible, and understanding as a royal, that you never remained invisible for long.

Her ladies noticed her idle hands soon enough, "That is lovely your Grace, surely the best one you've made yet," the ladies of the court lied so easily in King's Landing, they offered another torture, "will you like to sew something else? Maybe a dragon?"

"I could," Rhaella would rather sew her eyes shut, and jump out the window, but she could not tell them that, "I would like to check on Prince Viserys," she stood finding the reason she did not jump was to assure that her hatchlings made it to the dragons they were born to be, like clock-work, her ladies of the court followed in brisk steps, the perfect dolls of her collection, and not one was her friend.

It made ignoring them easier, "Greta, where is my son," she found Viserys' wet nurse turned caretaker leaning underneath her youngest son's bed, searching for him again, and her eyes worried over what to say to his royal mother.

The royal caretaker finally spoke, "I am sorry your Grace, he was just here a moment ago," Rhaella raised one of her eyebrows, quelling her disappointment, and stopping the shaking in her hands. A new development since Bonifer had died two weeks past.

"That is alright Greta, do not worry, I am sure he will turn up," the Targaryen Queen said pleasantly, and Greta joined her parade of dresses as they walked the halls searching, searching, and for a great while she was worried that they would chance upon the King, and that would not be very suitable with the absence of his youngest son, and his unsuitable caretakers.

The delicate song of a harp came from the gardens, Rhaella smiled, changing direction, and grinned openly at spotting her eldest son teaching the younger the art of song.

"Now here, that's it Viserys, a little softer."

Viserys sat unharmed, and content in his brother's lap, "you need to place your hands like this Viserys," said Rhaegar, fixing the three year old toddler on his lap, "there, you got it," when the infant only plucked one note, not at all very pleasantly, he was congratulated with clapping from his older brother, just as she had done for him once, "you will be better than me Viserys. One day," he teased the younger.

The toddler turned to hug his older brother, they smiled at one another, and that is when their mother's heart melted.

She could hold back no longer, she had to make her presence known.

"Prince Viserys," she called to her sweet boy, "my little hatchling."

"Mother!" Viserys ran his clumsy steps, but she still bent down to embrace him.

"I could not find you? We was so worried, you can't leave Greta Viserys," she wanted to scold him properly but her son smelled so good, felt so wonderful, she lifted him on her hip, instead to reprimand the older, "Prince Rhaegar?"

Her son went back to play his tune, already knowing, "He was wandering the halls, so I thought it best to bring him here, was that wrong of me?"

As if Rhaella could ever think that, "Never, he is your little brother, I love when my boys get along," Queen Rhaella took the seat next to her dreamy eyed son, the ladies sitting in the shade nearby giggled as her full grown son noticed them, the ladies were shameless, watching the pride of her labors, but it could not be helped, Rhaella too giggled when her eldest proceeded to wrap an arm around her and his little brother, "Rhaegar what are you doing?"

"Loving my mother," he said plainly, laying a kiss on her forehead, squeezing her closer, "your getting skinnier mother," he says, "you need to eat more-"

"I know-"

"You need the Maester to check these bruises," commented quickly too, having seen the bruises she had hoped to hide on her neck, "you don't need to ashamed of them," he commented painfully, "he shouldn't control everything you do."

"Your father does not control me," Rhaella shook her head, turning her son's head away from his harp, hoping to understand her oldest better, "why would you believe that? I chose this life Rhaegar. He doesn't own me Rhaegar, and he doesn't the control the love I share for you and your brother. His actions should not upset you so."

It was like he had not heard the words, instead mulling it over, "Sometimes I pretend it's just us, Viserys, you and me, in this garden," he thought aloud, her son carefully whispering in her ear, "sometimes I wish I was in charge, that I can make sure no harm ever came to you, when I am the King, no one will ever hurt you again-"

"No Rhaegar," she had to stop him from going further, "you can't say such things, not even here."

"But mother."

"No, if anything happened to you," she shook her head, putting her palm to the face of her beautiful and unblemished face of her son, the one she had promised to love forever, to suffer whatever mistreatment his father thought suitable, he was enough, "if any harm befell you, then I would not want anything to do with this world," she rubbed the hair of Viserys, feeling guilty of leaving any of her sons in the hands of their father, "but it's the truth, stay alive Rhaegar, stay healthy, stay strong my son," she hoped he understood, "I can live through whatever comes if I see your happiness, and your future secure-"

Rhaegar's treasonous words became barely audible, a vicious whisper, "he does not deserve you."

"I am all he has," Queen Rhaella said bitterly, getting up with a sleeping Viserys, holding her son's small body to her weak frame, her arms were not as strong as they used to be with Rhaegar.

That same son noticed it too, "Do you need help carrying him back?"

"Oh no Rhaegar," she smiled, "this is my favorite part of being a mother," she left her son to his harp, and walked back to her rooms, wanting a warm nap of her own, and now that she had her hatchling, she would nestle with him, keep him safe, keep him warm,

until their cruel Dragon King thought it best to make his presence known.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Tarth**

* * *

When his father, Captain Chatana, Hoga, and himself were seated to dine with the honorable and generous vassal of Storm's End was when things _really_ got interesting.

The Lord of these lands spoke, "Have you met my daughter Prince Oberyn," the mighty and rather big-boned Lord of Evenfall Hall extended his hand to his swaddled daughter, while the other meaty hand was not finished digging into the boar they had killed in the evergreen pine forest that inhabited the northernmost tip of the Isle of Sapphires.

His father suddenly turned into a Prince, and not sex-crazed hands under the table, "I have not the pleasure Lord Tarth."

"Come, bring the babe," the wet nurse did as she was bid, and she was watched closely as she presented the babe crying in her hands.

Gael was told wet nurses were women that fed noble children mothers' milk, and she did have very large breasts, his father noticed them too when the buxom lady showed his father the ugly little thing, "Lovely child, maybe she is being fed well, very well," his father winked at helplessly beet red-faced woman.

"You pig," Chatana slapped his father's hands, cursing him in her language, and that made the babe cry harder. It had not stopped crying the entire evening, red, little mouth like a goat's asshole, and despite the luscious morsels of meat Gael swallowed, it was hard for the boy to find sympathy for the crying babe.

The Lord Tarth did not notice his father's inappropriate attentions, or he had too much class to notice, "Thank you Prince Oberyn. She takes after her mother, my poor Elbreth died giving birth to Brienne, died in this very hall," _he could not be serious?_ But he was, "the Guards sometimes say they can still hear her screams, the poor woman, still, it is nice that she wants to stay so close after leaving us," Gael coughed on his meat, disturbed so much that he laughed nervously, and almost choked to death.

"Our condolences," Prince Oberyn slapped his son's back.

A small reprimand as Gael regained his breath.

Lord Tarth looked to the vaulted ceiling of his hall, his eyes forlorn, "Yes, these halls will never be the same without her," what a gloomy conversation, did the Westerosi have no slaves to play songs for them, or a Lyseni dancer to keep them entertained?

Gael was about to ask when the boring Lord went on, "she was doing just fine until the end. My beloved Ellie, caught a chill one morning and dead before noon. But enough about that, this is a joyous time for your family, you have a sister to wed my Prince, the Princess Elia is in the capital?"

Gael's father leaned back in his seat, his Martell colors seemed more important now, "Yes, fortunately or unfortunately as I see it," his father lifted the hand that was once under Chatana's baggy pants, "but what can a brother do? Elia was dead set on following our mother's wishes. They would not settle on anything less than a Crown Prince for my sister."

"The last dragon," Lord Tarth agreed, "I hear the Targaryen Prince is very talented."

His father did not disagree, "True, noble, beautiful, he is very fine for the eyes I can tell you this," Prince Oberyn teased Captain Chatana that only kissed him, daring him to go on, "but one thing I can tell you is Rhaegar is very much endowed with the last dragon-"

Now it was Lord Tarth's turn to cough, changing the subject, "so you have the pleasure of meeting the Prince? What is he like?"

"Depends on what you mean by _meeting_ Lord Tarth," his father lustful looks did not go unnoticed, and the men at the table shared looks with one another, "But yes, only that pleasure was I given. We Martells can only offer, but some men, they only prefer the softer beauties."

Lord Tarth looked lost for words, "I am sorry? I don't understand?"

"Boys, you don't partake," Prince Oberyn lifted his goblet to a comely young boy servant that was in the corner, winking at him, "I can see a fine one from here. Slim and fit."

The servant boy ducked his blushing head down, leaving the hall, and Lord Tarth's brothers and men began to do more than whispering, some even left the table, Gael raised an eyebrow. Men fucking other men was not uncommon in Volantis, but Westeros seemed to be a prude bunch.

"I do not-" Lord Tarth set his drink down, his cheery host smile all but lost to whatever indecency he thought his Prince father did partake in.

"Well lucky for me then," Captain Chatana shared a coy smile with her Prince lover, raising her voice from the swell of scandalized voices, "imagine me trying to fight off a Lord for my Prince, now that would make a good story. This reminds me of this one time, there was once a merchant ship off the coast of Pentos that decided to flag down our ship, foolish bastards, my archers took them from the rear-"

"Father," Gael whispered and his father bent his head, still partially listening to the exploits of the Feathered Kiss, not bothered in the least for their reaction to his father's preferences, "I need to take a shit."

"Go," his father said, his hand returning to Captain Chatana's lap, "you don't need to ask for that."

"The boy is leaving? Does he need something," Gael felt eyes on him, and he looked see that it was the Lord Tarth that addressed him, "this is your nephew Prince Oberyn?"

"No, this is my son," Prince Oberyn said plainly, finally introducing him, what remained of the dining table listening in, "excuse me, this is my son Gael Martell," Gael frowned, he had shortened his first name, but at least he was not a Sand. As he had pegged his little sister when the ladies had asked for her name, and effectively snubbed her in front of all noble Westerosi society.

The newly named Nymeria Sand was sitting in a short stool in the kitchens, taking her meal with the servants children, and it was then that Prince Oberyn was ready to throw a fit with the Lord if Nym did not look so happy with the boys and girls her own age.

"Oh he is your son," the Lord appraised him differently now, a much kinder smile than the one he had given his little sister, "I did not know you were married."

Prince Oberyn shook his head, sharing a look with his a grumpy Gael, "Widowed. His mother died birthing him too."

"I am so sorry my son, losing a mother is a burden children should not face so young," the Lord said to him, pity overflowing, and that is when the anger flared in Gael's gut, but he gave a mummers smile to the Lord.

The Lord took it as an invitation, "I know how it feels to lose a mother so young. But do not worry," he had the decency to tell him, "time helps."

Like Gael could believe that, "Many thanks Lord Tarth."

The Lord had the gall to rub his raven hair, "your father will watch over you, I can remember when my own father took me to Storm's End for the first time. I could not stop thinking of how my mother would have picked my clothes-"

The boy pushed his seat out, not in the mood for mothering, "Yes, well excuse me."

Gael had become tired of living the lie, and so he was directed to the privy, where he relieved himself, and found another little boy watching him. Blonde hair, pale skin, freckles, pudgy frame, and not nearly as handsome as Gael was used to seeing, but at least it was someone his age.

As he lifted his pants up, and buttoned, he asked, "Are you following me?"

The head disappeared behind the pillar, "No."

"Then why were you spying on me?"

"I was not."

"Then why were you staring at my pecker?"

"I was not," that made the boy yell, "I don't look at peckers," revealing his place, his prominent and uneven teeth an unappealing sight, "I was not spying. Father said there was a Prince, and now he says you are his son. I am supposed to be nice to you."

How convenient, a Lord's son, and hopefully someone that he could actually play with, "Your father is Lord Tarth?"

"Yeah," the boy finally let go of the wall, and walked up to him, less spying and more forward, "I am supposed to show you around."

Now that would be a hell of a lot less boring, "You got a name boy?"

The boy did not like being called that, at least that they shared in common, "Galladon, Galladon Tarth, but my friends call me Gal."

"Hey Gal, you know any fun places around here?"

That made the boy smile, a real ugly toothed one, and they both set off, without Hoga, or their fathers knowing the better of what was going to happen.

In the high noon sun was when they had finished their circle of the Tarth home, "And over that hill, that is where my friends and I swim, it is better during the summer days, it can get hot during the summers," _and it is cold in the winter, and wet in the rain_... Gods, was the boy stupid.

 _Still_ , he was a good guide, better than he had expected. Gael and Galladon Tarth both went over the hill to look at the aquamarine lake, "I want a closer look, oh come on, it looks refreshing," he did take a good look at the lake, one could see straight to the bottom of it, the reeds dancing just below the surface, and between them swam fish that Gael wanted to catch with his bare hands.

Gael stuck his walking stick into the waters, "Where I come from it is hot all the time, the ground burns your feet."

The boy dropped his entertained face, a look of wonder, "It catches on fire?"

"What, what did you say," Gael smirked at his reflection in the water, a proud, sharp chin pointed, and eyes so bright blue they looked violet stared back, because out of the two of them, he knew far more, traveled more.

"That the ground... burns?"

"No, what type of question is that, do you know anything of the world, have you ever left this island," Gael was truly interested, how far did Westerosi allow their children to go? Did they coddle them too? Gael was sure children were coddled everywhere, mothers were wierd like that.

"I have been to Storm's End, my father took me there for Robert's name-day," the boy said proudly. Gael remembered that was just off that mainland.

"That is practically nowhere," Gael laughed at the boy, "Have you ever seen Essos? Even heard of Essos, of the Free Cities?"

The younger boy pushed his shoulder, "shutup!"

"I will take that as a no."

"I said shut-up!"

Gael threw his head back, laughing, and that only made him more embarrassed, "Don't make fun of me!"

"Hey, stop pushing me, I will stop," for once Gael was having fun, sure someone was getting irritated, but the boy was short and too sweet for a fight with fists, "Let me explain it to you, the ground warms with the sun, so by midday it is hot enough to sizzle, my friend cooked an egg once, it tasted delicious, if you like rock and dirt in your eggs."

The Tarth boy made a face, "You cooked your eggs on the floor?"

"Where else would we cook them," Gael thrusted his stick deeper into the water, scattering fish, and creating a ripple across the waters.

"Oh," the boy chuckled too, "wait, now you are joking with me?"

"No, I am not joking, in Volantis everyone cooks their food on the ground, all the woman are naked, and the streets are paved with gold!"

"Stop making fun of me!"

"You make it too easy," Gael took off his shirt, drooped his whip, then his pants, and his underclothes he threw right in the face of the boy that yelped in fear, "come on Gal, race you across the lake!"

He did not wait for the no more than a child Tarth boy to join him. Gael jumped off the stony shore into the lake, and the first thing he noticed was how freezing the water was. It knifed him in the belly, into his legs, and shooting right to the center of his bones. It was not like the soothing warm of the Orange Shore, this was alien, and not his friend.

Gael spurted water through his gasping mouth, and did a few painful strokes that turned to a pitiful waddle through the clear water, "come on Gal! The waters ready for you," _oh hell_ , Galladon Tarth was frozen on the shoreline, holding his clothes, and it was obvious not even the native Westerosi, that had grown on this very land, would dare come into the water, let alone join him in his self-inflicted race across the lapping waves, the water was freezing as fuck anyways, "fine," Gael came back to the shore, his manly parts shriveled, and took his clothes back from a terrified Galladon, "you could have told me the water is freezing Gal, I nearly froze off my manhood-"

"I'm sorry Gael."

"Fuck," he looked at his sorry excuse of a prick, this was just horrible, "this is just fucken horrible."

"Oh Prince! Oh look it's the Prince!"

A butt naked and soaked to the bone Martell Prince and the cherry red Lord' son turned to see a group of children their age, a cluster of well dressed girls at the front giggling and blushing prettily, they stopped being pretty when Gael saw what they were looking at.

Gael blushed too, "Just great, give me back my breeches Gal-"

"It's not my fault," Galladon handed him back his shirt, the girls giggling louder when he had to reveal his shriveled manhood to them, "I never told you to jump in," said the Lord's son.

"Yeah and you didn't tell me not too, what friend that makes you," Gael complained, jumped up and down putting on his dry breeches, the water leaked through them making it look like he wet himself. Just great.

One of his Tarth friends came over, he got the whole story, and how he unwisely jumped into the cold waters, "But my Prince did no one tell you? It is far too cold today to go for a swim, you could freeze in these waters-"

Gael made a face at Galladon, the stupid Lord's son, "How was I supposed to know that this is a cold day? It's always cold to me here, do you have any common sense, I could have died if I had no experience with swimming, you could have killed me-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the Lord's boy jutted out his lip, and before Gael knew it he had a crying boy on his hands.

The Tarth boys gave him rude glares for that, Westerosi and their loyalty, "Just great, hey, I am sorry, I was being rude, here, stop crying, please," Gael rubbed the boy's shoulders, mummering that everything would be fine, and in reality Gael just felt like going back indoors with the adults, not getting into disputes with _children_ , "you don't want your father to see you cry do you?" Gael didn't want any of their father's to find out about this.

"My mother always told me not to cry," Galladon hiccupped, wiping his tears with the backs of his pudgy hands, "but I cried all night the day she died."

That's right, he just lost his mother, "I am sorry Galladon. It must have been hard."

As they left the freezing lake, he heard him speak up, "Did you love your mother?"

What type of question was that, "of course I love my mother," Gael said as if it was the silliest thing to ask, "I do, I will always love her," but a niggling demon in the back of his mind asked, does she really love you?, "I remember when I go to bed some nights," Gael didn't know why he revealed that, "most nights I remember her. Her memory is what keeps me strong."

"My mother was strong too, she told me a story about this necklace," Gal showed it Gael, it was a pearl surrounded by blue seashells, Tarth's children crowded too to see what the Lord's son carried, "she said this necklace would always protect me, no matter where I went. It would carry a bit of her to be with me always."

"That's sweet," said one of the boys, his eyes were for the pearl than for the memory of it.

Still it was sweet. It made him wonder. _Did his mother love him the way the boy's mother loved him?_

"Love is an unbreakable bond," said one of the older boys in the group, "it will bring my father back from sea, my mother always says it is the strongest thing in all the lands."

The Voletene in him corrected them, "Power is the strongest thing in all the lands." That shut the boys up, but Gael would have to ask his mother about it when he returned back to Volantis, the thought of power seemed less filling than the love the boys spoke off.

"Do you have any good stories," Gael had to ask, "enough about this love, what are we girls," the boys laughed, and the girls inched closer when they heard mention of themselves, "tell me what about battles of conquest, ancient legends, do you have any ruins around here?"

"There is the Ruins of Moore?"

Gael pounced, "Where are those?"

One of the boys pointed out the way the way they had just come, while another expanded upon the folklore of the place, and Gael felt his excitement rise once more, his nerve growing to find this place, and search it out.

"So the stories are true," Gale rubbed his hairless chin, "The Just Maid? It's that a real sword?"

The boys chimed in, one after the other about a legendary sword, gripped with adventure, conquest, and the myth that the wielder would be unstoppable. All rubbish to Gael, the adventure was in exploring, and there was excitement in the day that had not been there before.

That was when Hoga found them, she rushed past girls that had come to see Gael, "there you are, the crew were looking for you."

"Oh, okay, wait what are you wearing?" Gael noticed, upon closer inspection she was different, in these lands each of the Westerosi girls were decked in courtly dresses, ribbons in their hair, and the soles of their feet covered in soft slippers. Hoga had a simpler version, ribbons tying her too curly hair, and she did not belong among them with her pierced nipples visible through her dress, a borrowed dress from Captain Chatana no doubt.

"I hate it," she pulled on the edge of her dress, covering her peeping breasts more.

Gael lived to tease her, "You look nice," but he actually meant it because Gael had always liked her dark skinned beauty, her hair combed into a high and tight curled bun, her hands calloused like his, and among the few, she was the one person that he could actually count on.

"Come one Hoga," he grabbed her bare arm, the girls parted as he led her away, some bowing, but he could care less, "I have need of you."

She was not happy, "Don't, stop it, you're all wet, you're getting me wet. How did that happen?"

Gael laughed easily, "I jumped into the lake."

"Stupid ass."

Gael stared straight at her, watched the way her eyes widened, she was scared, and that was when he shook his head like a wet dog, really getting her wet now, "Stop! Stop shaking your head, you will get it on my dress."

He led the way for her to follow, "So what?"

"So what, you could have caught your death, have cracked your head open."

"Is that worry in your voice," he turned on his heel, up close he could see that Hoga had kohled her eyes, and there was red on her lips that had not been there before, odd, "what happened to you, your eyes are different," he deflected, looking her up and down as if she had bathed herself in elephant dung.

She changed the subject, "your father is not going to like that you ditched him again," she wiped her cherry nose, at least that was still sniffling.

"Whatever," Gael said, shaking the wet from his hair, and she backed away as they made it over the hill, the large group following behind them, "Hoga, what are your plans for today?"

"To spend it as your father orders me, but, Oh," she was catching on, "I don't like that tone, you are up to something," she looked back at the girls that were chittering and pointing at her hair as if it was a rat's nest.

"Oh I am up to something," Gael wrung his drying shirt from the rest of the lake water, "how would you like to go on a little adventure with me?"

She flicked on of her rebellious curls, "Do I have a choice?

"Not really," they made it back to the Evenfall Hall, a swirl of mist was beginning to set from the sea, and Gael decided to get a fresh pair of clothes, and a towel to mop of his head was the best idea.

"This way, we won't be seen," he took her hand, and tugged her along.

After as they descended back, avoiding the group of children altogether, taking the servant's passages, he helped her to climb over the rocky hillside, over a ledge that they had no buisness climbing down, "Don't be afraid Hoga, come on."

She hated heights, but she climbed down still, her hands shaking, "Is this the type of adventure that we don't tell your father?"

"Yes," Gael smirked, and it was difficult for him to brush off the feeling of adventure, even when Hoga gave him an upset glare.

Her dress ripped when she leaned too far to get down, he was below her, she sighed loudly, "I knew I should not have put on the dress."

"It's not that bad," he looked up, and Gael blushed to his toes.

She noticed when she was beside him, "What is wrong with you?

Gael ignored her, it, everything, "Nothing, nothing, just let me think. I have to remember what those boys told me."

Sure, he was just focused on the steps before him, too focused, and not replaying peeping up her skirt as he just did. Yes, he never should have looked up, and he knew if he had the chance he probably would have done so again.

It was sure failure not to notice how womanly she was becoming, because even if he was mentally reciting all his mother's stories, nothing could stop him from forgetting the velvet pink opening that Hoga had between her legs.

 _Gael was damned._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: The Just Maid  
**

* * *

Hoga's dark frizzy hair blew across her flat face, her dark skin looked even darker against the setting of the sun, and still she lacked any of the hunger that Gael must have to travel such a distance, "Gael what are we doing? We need to get back. It's already getting dark!"

"I am getting that sword, one way or another," Gael took advantage that he was free to do as he pleased, finally without the Lord's son hugging his leg, and his father occupied in love making, he had gotten away from the disappointing mess of it all, the Westerosi had no room for adventure, making excuses to stay in front of their warm roaring fires, while the eastern shores of Tarth had called to him still, "I will get the _Just Maid_ , and be a warrior worthy of Volantis!"

"A great warrior," Hoga muttered, shaking her head.

"I can do it," Gael looked over his shoulder, "with or without your help, Gal said it would out here, I have no reason to doubt him."

Hoga was not convinced, "He is a five year old boy Gael," like that made a difference, "what does he know of a legendary sword that can defeat any opponent? Really, that sounds like a stupid story to me, please, tell me this is all a joke?"

"It's not a joke," they continued their climb down the grassy hill to the Ruins of Moore, the stone fortress were black and rather sparse for such a great castle as the boy had told him, Gael had to prove to Hoga that this was not a fool's chance at greatness, "Gal's father comes searching here from time to time. If his father believes a stupid story," he repeated her words, "believes it enough to get his fat ass down here to look for it, then it must be true."

" _Oh_ by great Balerion," Hoga gasped playfully, "all the gods above watch over my Master the fool, don't let us fall to our deaths," Hoga was afraid of the sheer drop at the ends of the Ruins, she always hated heights, and as they walked along it, she held unto Gael's arm for dear life, far too close for her tastes, "What if this is an islands of fools? What then? We would be on a wild goose chase leading only to our deaths and your father-"

"My father isn't here," Gael growled, pushing himself up to the entrance of the ruins, the soil below the archway had given away to the cliff below, and he still had to help Hoga, which was a feat of sheer terror for her becuase the soil kept slipping, "If I get to be a fool for one night then so be it. Come on, don't hold me back, adn stop being a baby, no one is going to push you over."

"I am not," Hoga made it over the crumbling stairs that they had to grapple with instead of climb, dusting off her ripped dress when they were on stable ground, "You the one that is too stubborn to turn around!"

"We barely got here, and now you want to go back," Gael looked back just in time to see her slip on perfectly even soil, he caught her, for the first time in his life he had saved someone, but he was not going to tell her that, instead he gave her a wary eye, "Only with _your_ stupid feet would you trip over nothing."

Her cheeks were flushed, "Your impossible!"

"That does not mean it is not true," Gael would not give up, after he had gotten every little bit of information from Galladon about the Ruins of Morne, he had one focus.

"We worked too hard to get here," he reminded her, climbing another unforgiving hill of tumbled stone and broken down rooms, "I will not have it said that I ran away before danger showed it's face."

Gaelandro Daeragon Vogarro's son was no quitter, he was proud that he had managed to hide with Hoga on a cart that took him and her to the east side of the island, and from there Hoga and himself left the unknowing sheep hauling shepard, and smuggled themselves into the drafty dilapidated ruins of some ancient Lord no one remembered the name to.

"That sounds like something someone would say just before they die."

"It sounds like," he corrected, "that we will get a sweeter reward."

"Don't get mad when I get to tell you, 'I told you so' when I am the greatest warrior this side of the continent."

"Don't get ahead of yourself Gael, you are still a stupid Master," she mumbled, "I can't wait till your grandmother hits you again."

"Later," he muttered, "now look up, over here, welcome to the Ruins of Morne," Gael lifted his hands, like the ringmaster of some Essos play, but the shadows and dark of the distant castle made it feel like some tragedy rather than a comedy, "where some old Kings ruled before some Storm King or whatever threw them out of power. By all the gods, these are not half as big as the ones in Volantis. Pathetic Westerosi."

Hoga had other concerns, she did not like the night's invaders casting their fingers over the hills, how they creeped in the corner of their eyes, promising dark oblivion to the sunset rays, "We are not safe here Gael. Being alone like this is not safe."

Gael saw nothing of the danger, filled with adventure, "We have done this before."

"Last time we went through those ruins in Volantis we came with guards," Hoga always had to remind him of that. As if he needed to know how young and weak he was compared to grown men.

Gael brought out his whip, a friendly reminder, and she held tightly to her shortened broadsword, "we have our weapons, come on, it's time for our adventure."

After a few hours of searching in the shadowed darkness, for signs of secret tombs or forgotten passages, the winds began to pick up, and Hoga rubbed her bare arms, and Gael's loose shirt billowed in the breeze. Nothing but the cold. It was worse for Hoga, her shirt had been ripped too, her struggle to climb the ruins showed off her very nice breasts, she had goosebumps for skin, and of course that stole his attention.

Gael looked away when she might have caught him.

She must not have noticed, "Master, you are going to get us killed. It is freezing."

"Fine go back," Gael hauled a heavy stone, finding nothing underneath, but moist soil and earthworms and beetles that wriggled under the presence of air, he groaned, "I didn't need you in the first place. I could have come all by myself if I wanted to."

"Gael, you need me," as if he needed to be reminded, "I am here to protect you-"

"Like my grandmother told you to," Gael remembered it far too clearly, and he looked at her, hoping to see some understanding, but found none, "I know what you told her. I know how you are going to gain your freedom no matter if you stay here or go back. You struck a deal with her."

"What deal?"

He was not so blind, " _Oh,_ you know what I am talking about," he released his whip to hit a rock off a pillar, he was getting better with his aim, "how did you swear your allegiance to my grandmother?" He saw her eyes darken, " If you coddle and bring me home, you get something in return? Is that why you follow me everywhere?"

" _Aye me_ Gael, you are more trouble than your worth," Hoga picked up the fallen rock, distracting him, and playing with it in her hands,"What, what do you mean Gael? You make no sense when you rile yourself up."

"You made a deal with her! Did I stutter," thankfully he did not, but his heart was racing, and his lips felt like they wanted to start speaking gibberish. She did not know what this meant to him, "I always knew you wanted your freedom. I just did not think that I was that bad of a Master to you, I thought we-"

She stopped him right there, "That agreement never happened Gael."

There she went again. Lying. She was very good at it, and now he could see her for what she was. Gael turned his back, ready to lose her among the ruins, "Why should I believe anything you say."

"Because you know me," Hoga did not like him trying to run from her, "stop it, you are going to make me trip."

"Who cares, hopefully you will fall again, and become someone else's problem."

"Hey, I am talking to you, don't walk away from me," a rock flew near Gael's head, slapping off the Ruins, and that got his attention, "You don't get to be rude to me anymore."

There she went again, with her little taunts of gaining her freedom, "Why because you are free slave in Westeros," Gael looked up at her dark golden eyes, they were no longer filled with mirth, "because you can leave me now? Is that it?"

"I am not leaving you."

Gael chuckled, "I don't believe you," he had seen her run at the docks, how easy it must have been to hear the words, she must have known this would happen if she came, "You ran away before."

She sighed, as if she knew he would bring it up, and her smile nearly killed him, "I was just playing Gael. Don't you know that by now, who would watch over your stupid journeys if it wasn't for me," Gael felt his chest tighten, "who would get you out of trouble-"

He could feel it getting worse, and he clutched at his breast, the pain was getting worse.

"What's wrong with you, what-," he collapsed, "Gael!"

She caught him, somehow his legs had failed him, and he was trapped in her muscled dark arms, looking up at her face, he had to tell her, "You promised my grandmother," he held onto the hand holding his cheek, thankful for the darkness, hopefully she could not see how this truly affected him, but they were past that now, he knew it, "you promised her that you would never leave me, protect me, why would you ever think of running away-"

She lifted both of her hands to Gael's face, at first he thought she was going to deny it, that she was going to revoke ever saying it again as long as she was his, but she did not, "Because I want to go home Gael. I want to go home to my family."

Gael stopped his stupid searching. He stopped thinking. Only his dirt crusted fingers shook, and his eyes began to well up with something he had been holding back, "you want to go back home?"

She was shaking too, silent betraying tears going down her cheeks, "Of course I do. I want to go back to my family, back to Naath, I miss them, that doesn't mean I don't care about you," she poked at his chest, playful, not an ounce of hatred, and the pain stopped, it must have been some sort of emotional attack at the thought of losing her, perhaps forever, and he lifted himself from the childish wreck he had made of himself, and she did too, it was too awkward to do anything else.

Yet, she was not finished, "just think about it, the same way you miss your grandmother, the same way you miss your mother, is how I miss mine. But it is worse for me Gael," she rubbed her arms, her flat face scrunched up, "I am forgetting them, I don't even remember their faces, only their voices, sometimes I hear them in my dreams sometimes I don't. I need to go back before I forget them entirely. You understand Gael, your mother-"

It was not the same, "I don't miss her like that."

"You are lying," she called his bluff, "You love your mother, and it hurt for her to lie to you, anyone could see that, she only wanted to keep you safe," that is when she went into a sneezing fit.

Gael had enough of this, he pushed on her shoulder to stand, she needed to get back to the warmth of the Evenfall Hall, they stood together, and Gael pointed the way, "take that road down the way we came, don't go near the ledge," he never meant to say that she should fall, he had never wanted her to die here, or anywhere for that matter. He would miss her too much, "but you go home Hoga. I don't need you to get sick on me."

She looked at him, taken back, " _Go Home_?"

"Yes, back to the Evenfall Hall!"

"To Naath?

 _Go home._ _To Naath._ What about all the adventures they needed to go on? They were supposed to be conquering Westeros like some half pegged Targaryen wannabes. He had made her listen to so many of his mother's plans for him, as if she had a say in the things that he would ask of her. Hoga deserved so much more than that. That is why it was so hard for him to let her go.

There was only one thing left to do, "I'm letting you go," Gael felt his mouth say, even when his heart hurt to do it, "you can go back home, to Naath," he repeated her words, "I give you your freedom," Gael decided to finish this, and when she smiled at him.

He smiled back just as quickly, wanting nothing more to go back to his father, and ask him to send him on the first ship back to Volantis. To take her back so she could never forget the faces of her family. Hoga would leave him to ride Vox alone, and fight too afraid slaves to ever lay a hand on a Traich's son, but she woul be happier. He would think of her fondly while his mother and grandmother to babied him, and hopefully he in time she would find it in her hear to return to him.

Hoga had not moved since she was given her freedom, a small smile growing on her peaceful face.

That suprised Gael the most, the power a person could have over the other, _his father had been right_ , "Come on Hoga, we should get going."

Gael led the way, climbing down the path of the Ruins, up the hill, away from the eastern shore and Tarth's empty promises. Like before, Hoga followed, because there was nowhere else to run to possibly, or the small part inside him hoped she wanted to stay by his side.

He filled the empty air between them, "I don't want to hear you complain anymore about how I am a horrible ill-mannered Master I am. In Volantis I will have a boat sent to Naath, there you can see your family, make your own plans-" that was when he tripped over his rock, his toes would be bruised come morning.

At least Hoga was not laughing, he tried to stand, "Ay!" He must have broke it, "My foot!"

She patronized him, as if he meant to do it, "What happened now? What did you do now, oh my- look," Hoga stopped him from limping away, "is it the symbol you were talking about!"

After that devastating conversation she was still up to her tricks, why did he think so highly of her, "This is not funny Hoga! I can't believe I brought you in the first place-"

"Just shutup and look!"

He looked all the same, and saw the lightening bolt on the rock, it was barely visible.

"Is that?"

"The Storm Kings," Gael felt his greed return once more.

"Oh you can't be serious," she bared down on her belly with her arms, "I am leaving."

Gael was not going anywhere, Hoga noticed this too, instead he cupped his hands into the moist earth, before the stone he dug, "come help me!"

"You're insane!"

He began to dig, noticing her legs not moving, "You have to help me, this can really be something, this can be everything we have been looking for," he looked up in time to see her kneel next to him, helping him dig, and ruining her own nails in the process, she didn't have to say anything, Gael did, "thank you Hoga."

"Don't mention it.

* * *

 **King's Landing**

He found her in the library of the Maidenvault, a large sum of papers piled in her lap, her dark eyes roaming over the words, and that compelled Rhaegar to read the title at the top of the page, "what are you reading today?"

"The Age of Heroes," Princess Elia said in a dress his mother had chosen for her, and he couldn't help but frown, he much preferred her in her orange and red silk dresses rather than the dark black, he made no comment of it as he took the seat next to her, scouting the vicinity to see if anyone was listening.

Someone was probably already eavesdropping, there always seemed to be eyes on him these days, "What would compel you to read something like that my Princess?"

"Something the woodswitch said in her prophecy," Elia said, and Rhaegar's nerves became hot pincers as she continued, "she said something about the Long Night, that it's coming for us all."

"She said a lot of things," Rhaegar said dismissively, the blush of the lie no doubt spreading across his pale face, "doesn't mean any of them are real."

Elia was too focused on the papers to notice, "She told us how we would die, even how Jenny was not going to die here, " Elia said morbidly, "that she was going to get out, she knew what was going to happen, before we even knew it ourselves."

"You can't know that, the Septa's escape from the black cells," he said carefully, "was unexplainable, no one knows how she got away," he searched Elia's gaze, hoping she would understand, "we should leave it at that."

Elia did not, surprising him even more, "They found the Septa's body."

 _"What?"_

"My brother, Doran," Elia said carefully, "the King sent word to Dorne, he believed the Septa had gone that way, I don't know how he knew the path she would take, but he knew it."

"Varys," Rhaegar enlightened her, "you be surprised the capabilities the spymaster and his little birds have around Westeros, even across the Narrow Sea. Listening in on conversations they should never have been able to hear," he whispers even now, he has been doing that a lot lately, call it a form of self-preservation.

"Rhaegar," she shut the book carefully, "she died in the desert."

"That doesn't mean anything-"

"She died in a ditch filled with vipers."

"You jest," he brought his shaking knee over the other, biting his thumb in a way that scrapped against the calmness in the air, "this could all be a coincidence."

Elia gave him no pause, revealing all that brought had turned her sanity ill, "They recovered her body after a week, she had been laying in there. They said the venom had left her with a _smile on her face_. _God_ , how the woodswitch would have guessed it, I do not know."

Rhaegar couldn't believe her at first, knowing that men made their own truths, twisting them for their own games, "and on whose words did this come?"

"My brother would never lie to me," Elia defended, having no idea of the blood soaking betrayals King's Landing could make, daily if it could, and she still defended her kin, "and he would have no reason to, he had no idea what was said between us, in the black cells-"

"Enough," Rhaegar stood, only to kneel before her, getting close enough that propriety was no longer an issue, lowering his voice, "we will never speak of this, please, for both of our sakes."

The Martell Princess could not see his panic, focused on her own injury he was giving her, "I thought we were going to do this together," Elia repeated, "that we would find this out together."

That was just it, "It's too dangerous, especially now before our wedding. You have to see Elia, my father is already as irritable as when the woodswitch first came, anything can set him off. We could be next-"

She took it harshly, "He doesn't like me, you already told me," Elia could read between the lines of his words, "and if so, then why did he accept our marriage proposal?"

Rhaegar sighed into his hands, "you know I can't answer that, it would only upset you."

"You have _already_ upset me," Elia said relinquishing him the papers, "if you want to take care of this yourself then fine, I will continue my own way," she said bitterly and left him to rethink if leaving his future bride in the dark would help their marriage, or keep her safe from a King that called her a _Dornish donkey_ when she was not in the room.

Rhaegar allowed himself one curse word.

It did not go unnoticed.

"Very well said my Prince," from around the corner came the Spider himself, that almost made Rhaegar jump out of his skin, _almost._

The Targaryen Prince donned one of his handsome smiles, hiding his worry, "Lord Varys, I did not see you there. How long have you been hiding behind that book shelf?"

"Long enough to know that you need more practice with your whispering."

"We all can't be Masters of Whispers," Rhaegar thought of what he had said, did any of it sound suspicious, _well of course it had_ , "I assume you will be going to my father after this."

"It is my duty to serve the King," he simply put it, "if I chose to refrain from speaking of his Princes' private conversations, well, that is a different matter altogether."

"Is this the part where I offer you something in return Lord Varys," Rhaegar was in a position to give the eunuch much, his wealth, prestige in court, his good name, and not to mention that he could keep his favor when he became King.

That was looking less and less likely as the Spider crawled closer, his arms into the rich silks of his garment, his slippers sliding soundlessly, and his rosewater scent wafting under the Prince's nose, it was strong, he said only, "I want what any Westerosi would want," gathering all the information he had heard from court, Rheagar was a little more than worried.

"What is it that you want Lord Varys?"

"Only that when the time does come, and all things have been settled," he said ominously, "that there is a peaceful ascension of power."

Rhaegar was far more worried now, "you believe I will get in the way of that?"

"Let's make sure you don't," Varys says with a small smile, reaching out a plumb soft hand hand to pat Rhaegar's arm, "this was a nice conversation, we should do it again sometime."

The mysterious enigma of the Spider left the Prince in wonder.

Rhaegar replaying everything, and when Ser Arthur asked him what was wrong he had not the faintest idea, "there is something at work here Arthur," he muttered, as his friend whet his ancestral greatsword Dawn, "I'm afraid we are losing control of this game."

Arthur always knew what to say, "What should we do? How can I be of use?"

"Keep your eyes open Arthur," was Rhaegar's response, "I might have need of them," knowing the game he once understood so well, had now changed _entirely._


End file.
